


The Tiger's Claw

by Barbar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 18+, A lot of content, Adventure, Choices, Choices Matter, Choose Your Own Adventure, Death, First Time, Flirting, Graphic Description, Hurt, Hurt John, Hurt Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, John is John, Love Triangle, M/M, Mature story, POV John, POV Sherlock, Pain, Possessive Sherlock, Pure Love, Sensitive Topic, Sex, Sherlock is Sherlock, no more tags - I don't want to spoil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbar/pseuds/Barbar
Summary: Sherlock is desperate to finally tell John about his feelings. But he is afraid to do it. When he finally decides to take the last step, John finds a strange black envelope in their flat, and this will be the beginning of a dangerous adventure.A long story about great love, lust, adventure, love triangle, death, painful past, and saving the world in unknown territories of two continents.Will Jim Moriarty destroy Sherlock and John's life after all?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> A few words of introduction:  
> \- Why isn't this one of those BDSM or one-shots story? Because I have always loved long stories. A story without content is like sex without obligations. It's great at first, but after a while it feels empty and dissatisfied.
> 
> \- Attention! The choices are VERY important! I will be honored if you want to read all chapters but please remember your first choices. This will affect the further story and ending. Of course, you can choose to go through this story without reading other paths (this will allow you to see a different story each time you start reading it again).
> 
> \- Choose carefully. Choices are important and you need to think about how your choice will affect events in future chapters. Almost every choice will have consequences in the future, so think about it before making a decision.
> 
> \- I will write and update this story as often as I can. I will inform you when you have to make a choice. (After each update, return to the previous chapter to choose one of the options.)
> 
> \- If you are not a fan of violence and your stomach can't stand the bloody scenes, please don't worry. I will warn you at the beginning of the chapter if there will be such a scene. You'll be able to skip this and read the summary of the scene at the end of the chapter.
> 
> \- I am a fan of books. Tolkien, Sapkowski, Austen ... I love them all. You can see many similarities if you like books too. I based my characters and events on their works, but I tried to make this adventure interesting and surprising. I hope you will like it. Thank you in advance for your support! You can help me create a story you would like to read about - https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/C6C6X6L
> 
> \- One more thing. English is not my first or second language, so I apologize for any mistakes or errors.

Before Sherlock realized that something was wrong, test tubes, glass pipes, and other tools began to shake. The glass vessel looked like it was about to burst under the pressure of boiling liquid. Purple smoke began to come out of the tubes and quickly spread through the kitchen. Sherlock didn't wait. He quickly got up from the chair, left the pipette and everything he had in his hands, and quickly closed the kitchen door. He knew he didn't have much time before everything around him was going to be absorbed by the effect of his failed experiment. He ran to the living room window, but he could already see the purple smoke coming out of the doors and crevices. He started coughing. He narrowed his eyes as he wrestled with the window. The only consolation was that the smoke wasn't poisonous. After a few hard jerks, he managed to open the window. He tilted his head out and tried to catch as much fresh air as possible. Purple smoke poured out into the street, drawing the attention of people who were passing under the flat.

Some of them stopped and pointed their finger at Sherlock, who was standing in the window, coughing. Other people took out their phones and started recording this amazing scene. Sherlock saw them. _Excellent_. He will become an Internet star again for the next few days. He would like to hide inside the apartment, but the substance from the tube evaporated all the time and the smoke dispersed in the living room. Besides, the bland smell was unbearable. He had to hold on for a few more moments, and then he could go back to his experiment, which still made no sense. Sherlock couldn't focus. Not on investigations, or experiments, or the simplest activities. Even such a trivial thing as eating has been difficult for him lately. All because of one person. John.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Dear Lord. What happened here?" Mrs. Hudson entered the room. Red cheeks stood out from her pale face. She was panting. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for your concern." Sherlock closed the window and smoothed his tangled hair. When he turned to the living room, he saw that a thin layer of purple dust covered the furniture, carpet, and books.

"I was in the bar downstairs when I saw the strange smoke falling out of our windows," she looked around the room. "What did you do with my flat?" she didn't hide the reproach and irritation in her voice.

"Relax, Mrs. Hudson. All you need is a few drops of Dettol and a few minutes with a vacuum cleaner and the salon will be clean. Anyway cleaner than in recent weeks." He brushed the purple residue off his armchair and settled back comfortably.

"In that case, I hope you know where we keep all the cleaning supplies because I'm not going to clean up this mess." Mrs. Hudson went to the kitchen door and opened it. Smoke slowly began to fall on the table, fridge, and everything around. "Oh, Sherlock ..." she looked at him with reproach and entered the kitchen. She hesitated when she saw what her flat looked like. She used to say one thing and do another, which is why Sherlock was not surprised when she started cleaning. "I must seriously consider increasing your rent." She was bustling around the kitchen and put all glass things in the sink.

Meanwhile, Sherlock took a cup from the table next to him. He blew it and shook it to get rid of the dust, then poured cold tea from a porcelain jug. He heard his landlady put something in the fridge and throw the damaged things in the trash. He didn't care about the current situation because he had more interesting things to do. He did not listen to the complaints of Mrs. Hudson, who continued to rebuke him.

"Oh my God...". She stopped cleaning and picked up the silver bowl. She had to look more closely because she had no idea what was inside. When she realized that she was looking at the cut off human tongues, she quickly put down the bowl with visible disgust on her face. "Oh, no. I don't want to have anything to do with it." She tensed her body and went to the door leading to the corridor. "Clean it up, Sherlock, before John returns. He's not in the best mood today." She closed the door and returned to her ground floor kitchen.

Oh yes. He noticed it. He always knew John's mood. Just one look was enough for him. He knew everything about him or at least hoped so. John was his whole world. For a very long time. And although he dared not admit it aloud, he... loved him. Yes. He loved John. He was sure of it. He had loved him for a long time, but he never dared to tell him about it. What's more, he didn't have the opportunity lately, and even if he did, he didn't take advantage of it. He was afraid to lose his beloved friend, so despite the pain and longing he was silent and dreamed about him how he had always done it for several years now. He never cared about other people's opinions. John did. Sherlock saw it in his body language. Each time his friend tensed his muscles and smiled uncomfortably when someone looked at them as if they were a couple. Sherlock didn't understand why John cut himself off from his sexual orientation so much. He knew he had some childhood traumas, but he felt pain when John corrected other people - by telling them they were not a couple - with such determination. This has changed recently, which was a great relief and comfort to Sherlock.

Their life has been calm over the past few months. Nothing happened. Even the investigations didn't give Sherlock as much fun as ever. All because he was thinking about John. Intensively. He thought about telling him about his feelings. How much he wanted his touch, his warmth. How much he wanted to have him in his arms. He noticed that since their lives had returned to normal after all these events, he was looking at John more boldly and he wondered more often if it was time to finally tell him how he felt. Maybe it was the perfect moment? They lived together again. They lived side by side. They ate, laughed, and talked as usual, without stress or worry. Their everyday life was calm. Several times he had a feeling he should do it. He stood in front of John, looked into his eyes, and was ready to confess his feelings, but John avoided him as if he knew what was going to happen, or the intensity of his gaze frightened him. As he walked away with a nervous smile, Sherlock wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him listen. But he didn't do it. He didn't want to do it this way. He remembered the movies they were watching, and even several times he thought about recreating one of the romantic scenes. But he was afraid that John would think of it as some kind of experiment or joke, and for that reason, Sherlock would back down. He understood that the most important thing was honesty. Romantic surroundings were supposed to be just an addition. Sherlock knew that he had to confess John his feelings naturally and above all - honestly. He didn't need artificial romanticism, a dozen candles, and a quiet melody in the background, but for John, he was ready for anything. If that would help him understand how much he meant to him, he could even kneel before him and ...

Sherlock shook his head. He dreamed again. He thought too much about how John would react if he knew. Every time his thoughts came back to reality were absorbed by a dark wave of resignation and doubt. He was so close to achieving his goal and yet so far away. How could he be sure John would accept his feelings? What if he was wrong? What if John decided that he couldn't return his love and that being friends was the only thing he could offer him? It would break his heart. A heart he had never opened before. Maybe Mycroft was right? Maybe he shouldn't get involved? Well ... It was too late for that. A few years too late. John has ruled his feelings for a long time and Sherlock knew this would not change. The problem was that he didn't know if he should tell him or stay with him for the rest of his life as a friend. It was a good option, but if he could have John and his love ... he would take this chance without hesitation.

He looked around the living room. He wasn't sure it was the day, but he still didn't want to lose that opportunity. And since it was likely that he would tell John everything on that day, he should be prepared and should prepare John too. That's why he decided to follow Mrs. Hudson's advice and clean up - at least a bit - the mess he made in their flat. When he was looking for some clothes and cleaning products, he thought about the reason why John wasn't in the best mood that day, but he couldn't find a satisfying explanation. The last days were not stressful or tiring, because the cases they dealt with did not require much effort. Nobody visited them. Except for one journalist who insisted on an intimate interview and tried to enter their apartment at all costs. But no. It was unlikely. Maybe John just had a bad day. Sherlock had no intention of thinking about it any longer because his patience was running low. He found neither a vacuum cleaner nor cleaning products, and senseless walking around the flat began to irritate him. Finally, Mrs. Hudson took pity on him and helped him clean the living room, warning him ain advance that she was not even going to enter the kitchen. Therefore, when she returned to her apartment, Sherlock closed the door separating the living room and kitchen and began checking something on his phone while sipping hot tea. He was waiting for John's return.

He wondered where he was. Was he shopping? Did he go to the bar with Lestrade? Or maybe he needed a moment alone? Each option seemed possible, and Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about it. He always had to know where John was, with whom and what he was doing. He knew he was possessive, but so far he had managed to hide it from a friend who had no idea that he was under constant observation. They lived every day as friends, and yet Sherlock somehow lied to him. He felt that way. He couldn't be honest with him. It killed him and hurt him every time he couldn't tell him about his feelings. Sometimes he wanted to embrace him instead of smiling and comforting him. Every morning he had to restrain himself so as not to touch his silver hair with his fingers when John was eating breakfast. It was also difficult for him to control his raging breath when they stood close and he could not touch him without giving a specific excuse. He wanted to show him without using words that he was always there for him. Always close. Always ready and carrying.

He heard the front door slamming and then steps on the stairs. John's steps. He listened to see the mood his friend had. The steps were calm, natural. Neither heavy, which would indicate anger, nor light, which might reveal some fear and uncertainty. John climbed the stairs normally and leisurely, and that meant his mood was improving. When he stood in the doorway, Sherlock stared at him. He looked normal. He had slightly pink cheeks and tousled hair, which was natural because of the increasing wind outside. His straight back and glint in his eye indicated that he had met Lestrade and friend from the army, and spent several hours with them. Sherlock felt an irritating stab and felt like grunting because he didn't like it when John was hanging out with other people. Especially with those whose genius had no chance to meet before. Jealousy. It was an ugly word, but it was common in Sherlock's life when he thought about John. 

His friend was holding a bag, probably with a bottle. He gave him a quick but warm smile. He set the paper bag on the table and took off his jacket. "Something happened when I was away?"

"Nothing worth your or my attention." Sherlock shook his head casually. "Why do you ask?".

John looked around the living room carefully. "Because the flat is quiet and ... clean." When his eyes fell on his friend, he narrowed his eyes and walked over to him.

Sherlock froze in his armchair. It was like that every time John tried to 'deduce' something from his look. He almost shuddered when he felt his warm fingers on his face. John stood slightly bent over his armchair and touched his eyebrows with his thumb. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried hard not to show his body trembling at the gesture. When he opened his eyes, he saw John watching his finger with attention. Sherlock saw the remains of purple dust that must have tangled between his eyebrows. He was surprised because he had washed his face and was sure that he got rid of the purple sediment. He heard John's murmur and saw him move toward the closed kitchen.

"I have two news". He tensed the body again, guessing how John would react in a moment when he saw the kitchen mess.

John stood still and turned to him. "What is this good one?"

He thought for a moment, looking for the answer. "I won't do that again," Sherlock nodded as if to make sure he was speaking honestly.

John sighed and rubbed his face. "What have you done?". He didn't wait for an answer. He put his hand on the door and moved it sideways.

John was facing the kitchen, but Sherlock imagined his face. He also saw the remains of a failed experiment. Purple dust stuck to kitchen cabinets and the table. It decorated toaster, jars and other things. Only the floor was clean because Mrs. Hudson said she would help him clean the floor, otherwise, the dust would spread all over the flat. Sherlock saw John's shoulders drop in resignation, as did his head.

"I am way too sober for this." John walked into the kitchen, took two wine glasses from a locked cabinet, and returned to the living room, closing the door.

"I used too much iodine," Sherlock wanted to justify his action somehow, but it wasn't necessary. John didn't look angry or annoyed, or moreover - interested.

"Did you at least prove what you wanted?" He slowly walked over to the table.

Sherlock watched him with a smile. In fact, he carried out his last experiments mostly out of boredom, not for the sake of some investigation. His thoughts were all focused on John, so he didn't even want to think about cases. Thinking about John was much more pleasant and grateful because he could imagine something different every time.

"Well. It's good that I bought alcohol along the way. Somehow I felt that it might be useful to us today." He gave his friend a glass of red wine and sat down in his armchair.

The evening began to go amazingly well. Sherlock did not think that it would be possible, but with each passing moment, the atmosphere in the living room was more cozy and romantic. Maybe it was because of the night that slowly enveloped London's streets. Maybe because of the silence between them. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were alone and they spent their time as usual. Sherlock took advantage of the moment, and for a moment he thought that maybe he would try to initiate some intimate conversation with his friend that evening. After all, they had peace, no one disturbed them, and the mood seemed just right. He didn't look away from John, who didn't seem to care about it, nor did he look uncomfortable. He sipped wine and examined the cover of the book that lay on the table next to his armchair.

"As I can see, you can't wait to mention the vacations you arranged for us." He smiled to himself at the sight of total surprise on John's face.

"How the hell do you know that?" John put the glass back on the armrest and stared at his friend with undisguised admiration. "How did you deduce it?".

"By your smell," he gave him a furtive glance to enjoy his expression. "You smell like cinnamon beer. The only cinnamon beer in London can be found in Prospect of Whitby. This is Lestrade's favorite place. He visits this pub after quarrels with his wife. Recently he complained that he had booked a trip for them, but of course, he wouldn't go anyway. He invited you because he wanted to complain about his marriage, and at the same time resell tickets for half the price "his words made John smile more and more. "You took his offer, and to celebrate it, you bought wine. Not your favorite one because you didn't have more money with you. This wine is cheaper. Although quite tasty anyway." To show that he really enjoyed and was happy with John's decision, he closed his eyes and took a few sips. He heard his friend's quiet and extremely pleasant giggle. He imagined him shaking his head in disbelief.

"Sherlock, why are you in such a good mood?" John crossed his legs and leaned the back of his head against the chair's head with a smile. "You failed the experiment. We have no interesting cases. For several days nothing is happening ...".

Sherlock smiled under his breath. "Do I have to have a reason?" he looked straight into his eyes with intensity, which made John focus his eyes on him longer. "I'm just enjoying the moment," he raised his glass and drank some wine, not looking away from John, who was increasingly intrigued.

"Just don't tell me you suddenly feel in the mood for sentiments," John with a slight irony raised an eyebrow and gave him a smirk.

He did not answer. Instead, he grabbed the violin and began to tune the strings.

John frowned. "I don't like it. I don't like your face, Sherlock and your smirk, because that usually means you have a plan... a plan related to me."

Sherlock smiled even wider, and it was because John may have sounded serious, but his expression was proof of something else. His friend was in a very good mood and teased him. "You may not have noticed, but lately I am increasingly beginning to consider this mood as an indispensable aspect of our lives." He surprised John. He saw it in his eyes. "I also came to the conclusion that I like it," this time he had to look away because the complete confusion on his friend's face almost made him laugh. He didn't want to spoil the moment for anything, that's why he put the violin under his chin. "I became convinced that being with another person helps to acquire some of their qualities. You are romantic, so it's probably obvious that I've started to notice and enjoy things that you value." He wanted to see if John understood his words and their message, but for the even greater effect, he decided to add something that must have completely surprised his friend. "Many couples experience the same phenomenon."

 _Put John in a good mood - check. Make him feel comfortable - check. Create an intimate mood - check. Raise the right topic - check._ Now he had to take care of the mystery. He ignored John's shocked and confused look and focused on playing the violin. He closed his eyes. He put the bow to the strings and gently pulled it along the entire length. A pleasant sound spread throughout the room, followed by another. Sherlock loved to play the violin, but he enjoyed it most when John was his only listener. He played and composed for him. His heart was filled with pride every time he felt his eyes and focus on him. Slowly, he began to focus only on the sounds and thoughts of a friend, but the knock on the door interrupted him. He wanted to grind his teeth because he noticed that John immediately turned his head and looked at Mrs. Hudson. He dropped his hands in resignation and sighed significantly.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson? Have you again forgotten something here that can't wait until morning?" He was well aware that she was spying on them. She also had to sense the change that was happening in the flat, because she looked genuinely interested in their relationship. She visited them disturbingly often. She let him know that she had enough of waiting for one of them to take the first step. All her efforts, however, had cons. She didn't leave them alone and interrupted the moments that Sherlock planned to spend showing John his true thoughts and feelings. He watched his landlady, who cheerfully entered their living room with a bundle of letters in her hands.

"It's all for you," she went to the table, ignoring Sherlock's attention and put down the letters. She looked at John. Satisfaction and a genuine smile did not leave her face. What's more, her smile widened when she saw the glasses in their hands. "He's angry that he had to clean up the mess he made in the morning." She pointed at Sherlock.

The genius flinched and got up from the chair when John did the same. He watched his friend come up to the table with a pile of envelopes.

"If only you could see it, John. The whole floor was sticking with some purple dust. All because of his experiments."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. The hazes can still be in the air, so it would be better if you go" Sherlock opened the door and without touching his landlady, invited her into the corridor.

John ignored them and focused on looking through the envelopes. "I wonder how many of them are threats," his quiet grunt didn't catch their attention.

Sherlock led Mrs. Hudson out the door and was about to close it, but she put her hand on it. "Could you leave us alone, please?" he asked, leaning slightly toward her and lowering his voice.

"He can't do anything right because he thinks of you all day." Mrs. Hudson said loudly from the corridor, peering over Sherlock's shoulder. She wanted to see how John reacted to her words, but she was disappointed. First, because John didn't turn around or even lookup. Secondly, because Sherlock immediately closed the door, even more, leaving only a narrow gap at the width of his head.

"Thank you for your comment. I was going to tell him about it."

It caught her attention. She looked at him with genuine surprise, which immediately gave way to joy and excitement. She clapped her hands and giggled happily. "Will you tell him today?"

Sherlock looked back, then turned quietly to his landlady. "This is my intention. I will do it if you stop disturbing us." He heard the excitement in her laughter again. He closed the door when she wanted to grab his face to give him courage. He turned to John and was relieved that his friend was more interested in browsing the pile of letters. The last thing he wanted, was for him to know about his intentions. He didn't want his honesty about feelings to look like this - spoken aloud by their landlady. He wanted to tell John in person. Alone. He shook his head because he couldn't believe how much John had changed him. Earlier he couldn't think of such a thing at all. However, he didn't mind at all. If he could initiate an intimate conversation with him about feelings, he decided to take advantage of every opportunity. He slowly approached his friend. He could barely resist the temptation to stand behind his back and hug his face in his silver hair, but it was like that every time he was close to him, so he had already mastered his desires. He stood beside him and pretended that he was also interested in letters.

"They're all for you." John might have been able to successfully hide slight jealousy in his voice, but he was betrayed by a frown and a quiet sigh.

It made Sherlock smile under his breath.

"Letters from fans, from clients" John began to enumerate, pointing to envelopes, which in his opinion belonged to people from these groups. "This letter probably sent a child. The biggest pile is threat letters."

Indeed. Sherlock immediately recognized the owner of the letter, casting one glance at the envelope, handwriting, stamp, and even small creases. He watched John with admiration. His friend separated the envelopes without even opening them, making almost no mistake. At one point, his friend's attention was drawn to a large black envelope, lying at the very bottom of the scattered pile. John took it and began to watch it carefully. There was nothing on it. Neither the sender's or recipient's address. There was not a single stamp or signature on it. The matt - black envelope stood out from the others not only in appearance but also in size. Sherlock tried to remember where he had seen similar letters, but couldn't do it.

"I wonder who this one is from." John looked at the envelope from all sides.

"Some tall man gave it to me this afternoon ..."

Sherlock heard the muffled voice of the landlady. She stood behind the door and overheard them. He clenched his teeth and rubbed his hair. He understood that evening they would go to sleep still as friends, and had to wait for his moment of sincerity with John. It was the end of their romantic evening, so he focused his attention on the black envelope.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and looked into the living room. "... He ordered me to hand it to one of you."

Sherlock gently took the envelope from John's hand and looked at it closely. Where did he see a similar letter? It had to be trivial enough that he couldn't remember, and so important that he remembered a similar situation. He was sure of one thing - it had to be something important. The person who prepared the letter expected to catch their attention. He was also sure that the person wanted to impress them. This person was a professional in a high position, and as a result, the inside of the envelope had to be important for that person. The smell didn't reveal anything either. The envelope smelled ... it didn't actually smell at all. Sherlock could only smell the fresh paper. The easiest way would be to open and see what was inside, but it would be too easy. Besides, he liked it when John looked at him with admiration, so he insisted that he would find out who the recipient of this letter, and only then open the envelope. He looked at the letter for a long time. He was so absorbed in the task that he didn't care about the conversation between John and Mrs. Hudson. He could not hear what they were discussing, but he still felt the pleasure of the sound of his best friend's voice. "Who sent you?" he muttered under his breath.

"Mycroft".

He looked at John and blinked several times. His friend stared at his phone. "How did you come to that?".

"Because he asks ..." John showed him a message from Mycroft, "... did we finally get this envelope."

It was disturbing. Strange and disturbing. However, everything suddenly went together. He remembered that he had once seen similar envelopes in Mycroft's room when he broke into MI6's headquarters to take something he needed then. Even stranger thing was that the letter was addressed to both of them. The man who delivered it certainly acted on behalf of his brother. It must have been something important and secret. But why? Why now? What was so important that he interrupted his life with John? What made him have to intervene between them right now? But what if it wasn't Mycroft's initiative? What if he was just someone's pawn and had to comply with orders from his superiors? Whatever it was, Sherlock didn't want to open the envelope. He would like to tear it apart or hide it somewhere between newspapers. He wanted to spend the next few days showing John how much he meant to him and how he felt about him. A letter from Mycroft would probably mix up his plans and life. He was going to throw the letter away, but John couldn't wait to read what it was all about, so he took it from his hand and opened the envelope. When Sherlock saw his frown and then his widened eyes, he knew that it was not good and that he would have to delay his plans. At least for a while.


	2. Jealousy

He had not felt so annoyed, and at the same time powerless for a long time, as at the moment when he was walking next to his brother along the corridor in one of the secret government building. They walked in silence, but he could easily guess Mycroft's thoughts. He saw the worry, care, and doubt on his face. Every time his brother gave him a look, Sherlock turned his head. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed by the current situation, or maybe he had already accepted the idea that every time he was ready to confess his love to John, something unexpected had to happen. Something that will change his plans and force him to deal with completely different matters. And he was so close. That evening, when he saw his friend's face, he knew that something had thwarted his plans this time. Actually - someone. He looked at Mycroft again. The helplessness he felt completely took away his urge to discuss. His only hope was that the situation would not turn out to be as hopeless as he thought. But, when he looked at his brother's frown and his cogitative eyes, he knew that his hopes were vain. For some time he will not be able to experience a happy life in John's arms.

"Why now?".

Mycroft, who heard Sherlock's soft murmur, sighed softly. "I know. I'm really sorry, brother mine." His voice rang unnoticed in the corridor, as did their footsteps on a soft carpet. "I would also prefer that this situation was not so serious and so you ... could finally do what you have been thinking of for so long." He smiled sadly. He wanted to comfort him, though it didn't work out too well.

Sherlock frowned but didn't answer. He repeated the words of his brother in his head. He felt like he was reading his mind. He did not doubt that Mycroft was well aware of his plans and that in his own way he was supporting him in his relationship with John. He seemed to understand that Sherlock could find true happiness only with his friend. That's why he couldn't understand Mycroft's motives. Why did he want their help right now? What was so important? Couldn't his people deal with the problem alone? He felt close to solving these questions, but he didn't want to think about them anymore. He did not intend to worry about the country and security matters at all. But John did ... It was because of him that he decided to make this trip to the other end of England, but if it was up to him, they would be sitting now in their flat and talk about irrelevant things, and he would have the opportunity to look at the silver hair of a friend and his bright wise eyes. Unfortunately, he couldn't resign when John contacted Mycroft and promised they would both come to the meeting.

While they were sitting in the plane he wondered about the reasons for this forced journey, glancing at John from time to time. After arriving, they didn't even have time to talk. They were immediately taken to the second floor of the building, where they had to wait for further orders. In the meantime, Mycroft joined them. He didn't seem too eager to explain this sudden meeting. He didn't look ready to talk at all. Sherlock tried to force him to be honest, but it did nothing. Even when they were alone. Mycroft was silent, and Sherlock finally gave up, although he guessed that this type of behavior meant problems.

The corridor was long and winding. Sherlock had the feeling that he wasn't in a secret government building but a maze. Finally, he felt a stronger breeze on his face. He knew they were approaching the wider hall. At one point, he saw the bright light that entered the building through the glass roof, and then John. His friend was standing by the wall and he was talking to a woman.

_A woman ..._

Sherlock immediately tensed his body. He didn't even think to pretend he was indifferent to John's company. Anyway, he didn't have to worry about it, because his brother was aware of his fascination with the doctor, and then with the hot and sincere affection he had for him for a long time now. He didn't even hear a word of objection when he passed Mycroft and approached his friend. He slowed down a bit when he was near them. He didn't want to look desperate or jealous of John's attention. He knew that he didn't have to worry about his companion. Still, he felt an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth and a twist of the bowels every time a woman was near John. Even worse - a really beautiful woman. Sherlock looked at her and to his dissatisfaction, he had to admit that John's companion was really attractive. Her long braid moved with every movement of her head, and the black eyeliner emphasized her green eyes. But as soon as he got close enough, he realized that she wasn't flirting with John. Her blunt words and fairly direct style of expression revealed that the last thing she was thinking about at the moment was flirting.

"... I'm gone when I find the first opportunity to get out of here." She looked at the Holmes brothers, but a second later she lost interest in them and looked at John. "I didn't even mean to come here but ..."

"Curiosity was too big," he finished and raised the corner of his mouth. When his eyes met Sherlock, he smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, imitating the attitude of a young woman. There was a long silence between them. For a strange reason, John turned his head and looked as if he was looking at something across the hall. Sherlock did not understand the reason for this unusual behavior, but before he had time to deduce something, he heard the voice of a woman whom he had been watching for some time.

"And, you. Why do you stare at me like that, huh?" she gave Sherlock a suspicious look under her raised an eyebrow. "Have you never seen a lass before?".

Usually, he would ignore this remark or he would respond maliciously, but not this time. He didn't want to be sassy to someone he thought was nice to John. He noticed that John was grateful to him whenever he refrained from making comments. He liked it when he looked at him like he does now - with a slight amusement on his face and a glint in his eyes. The fact that his friend's attention was now focused on him made him straighten up even more. He raised a corner of his mouth and stood next to his friend. "I just admire," he said, provoking visible irritation on her face. He watched her slightly bored attitude change into ready for confrontation. She put her hands on her hips, but didn't say a word, just waited for clarification. "I rarely have a chance to meet people who practice archery. Especially those who use English longbow." He saw a change on her face. He also saw the surprise and curiosity in John's eyes. His friend was watching her closely, but it didn't bother her because she was as surprised as he was.

"Seer or what?" she asked. She looked at them with confusion, but after a while, she understood who she was dealing with. "Wait ... You're the detective. What was your name? Holmes?" She mused, "Was it you who faked your death and fooled everyone?" Her expression changed. She cheered up. "Ha! You're a rascal. Your loved ones must have nerves of steel." She looked at John. "I feel sorry for you ". She didn't allow any of them to answer. She threw a thick braid off her shoulder. "I'm leaving now. Maybe I can find something stronger than the juices and water they propose here." She turned and walked deeper into the hall without saying goodbye.

John watched her, which irritated Sherlock so much that he felt like standing in front of him and blocking the sight of a woman walking away. However, he did not do so for various reasons. One of them was that desperation didn't suit the situation they were in, and that childlike jealousy could have made John amused. Sherlock did not want to agree to this. He did not want his feelings to be associated with something funny and irrelevant. He wanted John to seriously consider all the expressions of jealousy, possessiveness, and protectiveness that were usually associated with love.

"She's an archer?".

As usual, his friend was looking for answers. Sherlock felt proud that despite so many years he was still able to surprise him with his deductions. "Contrary to appearances, she is strong, her body is in excellent condition. She has muscular arms for such a small posture and scars on three fingers on her right hand from pulling the string. Besides, look at how she moves ...". He knew he had made a mistake. Her firm hips stood out too much from the rest of her body. He guessed and actually was sure what John was looking at. He felt that unpleasant yet familiar feeling of jealousy again. "Archery is her passion. She does it when she has free time from hospital work," he wanted to change the subject, but the note about medical education was not very interesting for John. His friend watched the woman until she disappeared around the corner.

Mycroft, who until now had stood quietly behind Sherlock, came out of the shadows. "Advice for the future ... You better not upset her. Miss Lucy is known for her temperament and sharp language. And, as you noticed, brother mine, she is very good at using melee weapons. It will be better for you to live in harmony with her".

John frowned, and Sherlock was able to read all the questions from his face. "What does it mean 'for the future'? What is this all about, Mycroft? Will you finally tell us why we're here?" John focused his attention on the older brother.

Mycroft looked at the floor as he used to do when he had to answer a difficult question. He would like to tap the tip of the umbrella on the ground, but he did not have it with him. "Forgive me, John. I have to remain silent, at least until the meeting begins," he nodded toward the closed door. It was obvious there was an office or secret meeting room. "I'd like to say more, but I can't."

Sherlock snorted and shook his head. "Please, Mycroft. Your envelope bait has served its purpose. John and I are here, so you can let go of all these secrets".

"I was instructed not to initiate anyone," Mycroft lowered his voice. He gave his brother a cold and warning look.

"From your superiors?" the younger genius raised an eyebrow.

"Yes".

Sherlock understood that the case must have been serious. Usually, Mycroft decided everything that was important for the security and organization of the country, but not in this case. It had to be an international matter, and that made Sherlock even more interested. "Don't you think it would be wiser if you tell us what's going on here?" he asked, almost muttering, he leaned toward his brother and looked him straight in the eye.

They looked at each other for a long time. None of them wanted to give up, although it was clear that Sherlock was more determined to achieve his goal. Mycroft looked discreetly from side to side. "We have a problem with our mutual friend," he said and knew that Sherlock immediately understood who he was talking about. "Apparently, he was far more organized than we could have imagined. You were sure that you were able to destroy his organization, but our spies have learned that some places are still functioning and are doing good. So good that further procrastination may end badly. We need to find these hiding places and end Moriarty's story for good. "

John shuddered at the sound of his familiar name. He looked at Sherlock with his eyes wide open and gritted his teeth.

Sherlock tried to ignore John's frightened face. He wanted to shout and hit something because the awareness that his two-year mission - which had caused John so much pain - was not over, made him furious. How long will Moriarty mess up his plans? How long will he threaten their lives? He tried so hard to keep John safe and yet he fell. He didn't do the job, and now he had to face the consequences. He couldn't look at John's frightened eyes. He felt he had let him down, so he looked away at his brother. "I found and liquidated his every hideout, every related organization. It took me two years to track down his associates. Are you saying that I could have missed something?" he asked with a slight threat and reproach.

"It's partly my fault," Mycroft admitted quietly. "I should check every possible option and place. Earlier I did not think that he could have such connections in such unusual regions."

Sherlock ignored the mention of 'regions'. He didn't want to wonder at the moment where those 'regions' were. John was most important to him because it was clear why Mycroft insisted on their arrival. They were to take part in the liquidation of Moriarty's organization to the end. He was also afraid that it wasn't supposed to be a desk job. He realized with horror what a task he and John had to face, and the knowledge that John was in danger was beyond his strength. He heard his brother sigh.

"Sherlock ... I wasn't going to pull you into it again. It wasn't my idea. I wanted to keep you away from it, but others insisted. They concluded that since you know his organization and know how it works, you will be perfect to manage this operation. Initially, we wanted to include you in the management center, but I knew that John would not let you deal with this problem alone. " He looked at John. "I am also convinced that my brother would not allow being separated from you again, doctor." He turned his head toward his brother again. "So we agreed that you both will participate in this mission. However, the final decision will be yours."

"I don't think we are the best candidates for this mission, Mycroft," John said, letting him know he didn't like the idea. "I am not suitable for this type of job. I do not know how to help you. I am a soldier, not a strategist or ..."

"I'm afraid, John, that Mycroft meant a direct mission," Sherlock sighed. "He knows that you will not leave me alone and I will not agree to let you go on a dangerous mission. It seems that my brother ..." he gave Mycroft an unpleasant look, "decided to send us together to an unknown area and he hopes that we'll do the job. "

John sighed. "All the more. Why don't you send your agents? You probably have dozens of them. Only the best and most trusted people can do that. Send them."

Mycroft gritted his teeth. He kept his eye on John for a long moment. "We are doing just that," he murmured with such certainty that his words left no doubt as to his sincerity. He watched John in silence. The doctor analyzed his words, breathing faster and faster.

"How did you even come across the trail of Moriarty's organization? How do you know where to find his hiding places and how many are there?".

John's honest questions made Mycroft straighten up and change his expression. His interest was proof that he was considering the possibility of joining the mission to Sherlock's huge dissatisfaction. Mycroft's younger brother did not even pretend to be interested in participating in his plans. He watched him with a displeased face, and his clenched jaw indicated that he could barely control his body. He wanted to grab John by the hand and lead him out of the building. Mycroft was even happy that Sherlock had not yet managed to tell John about his feelings and refrained from acting, otherwise, his jealousy and protection would put them in an uncomfortable situation. "Our people have been dealing with this issue in detail for several years. They have been able to determine more or less where the center of his organization is and where they keep the most important information." He paused for a moment, remembering how many people had given their lives to this mission so far. "They managed to confirm the four most likely hiding places, but the margin of error was exhausted. We can't let them guess our moves. We have to go out on a limb."

"How can you be sure that the information is true, that no one has fabricated it? Maybe your agents wanted faster promotion?" Sherlock asked casually. He seemed to be starting to lose interest in the conversation. He didn't even notice his brother's serious look, who wasn't pleased to hear his dismissive tone.

"My people have paid for this information with their lives." His answer indicated that he was angry and irritated by Sherlock's accusation that he was training his agents badly and didn't have the sense to determine which one was suitable for work in MI6.

"Then, it reflects badly on them." Mycroft ground his teeth, but Sherlock didn't care. As usual. Disturbing thoughts crossed his mind. He felt that he had let John down, he was afraid that he would put him in danger again. He also didn't feel well knowing that despite all his efforts he had not brought the Moriarty case to an end. He would gladly deal with it if the circumstances were different. The only thing he could think about now was his love for John. The desire to finally have him in his arms, to feel the taste of his lips, and confess what he felt for him all these years. The last thing he wanted to do was to return to matters related to his arch-enemy, who forced him to leave his dearest John alone. But he knew one thing. As long as Moriarty was in their lives, he will not be able to experience John's love. The danger lurking on the horizon has never had a positive effect on people's feelings and emotions. He understood that to get all his friend's attention he had to control and resolve the tense situation. Otherwise, John couldn't focus on what he felt and what they had in common. The sight of his face confirmed it. John stood thoughtful, afraid, and focused on something completely different than Sherlock had hoped. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, erase his uncertainty, and worry from his face. Smooth the wrinkled forehead with his lips and warm his cold fingers with his hands. He saw it all in his imagination and barely kept his body from acting. He learned how to do it because John's closeness often tempted him and ...

Loud steps caught his attention. He looked where the noise was coming from. Three pairs of heavy shoes climbed the glass stairs. He saw the three men only when they entered the corridor. One of them, the one in the front, caught his eye at once. He was muscular and tall. His stomach muscles were visible from under his black shirt. He walked with a serious face, looking under his feet. This was not due to shyness or uncertainty. The man had no pleasure looking around the corridor. He had to be here often. Sherlock immediately realized that he was looking at one of those people that Mycroft and his friends interrogated in the underground rooms under the building. His appearance was screaming - danger - but Sherlock had no idea what could be the reason for his detention and for how long he had been interrogated by people like Mycroft. Only one thing was clear. The man was not here of his own free will and would gladly return to his small cell, to which he probably already got used to. He deduced it from his face. Pretty handsome face, though marked with scars and a short red beard. The other two men were his bodyguards, or rather agents who were supposed to keep him in control, guide him, and eventually immobilize him if they had to. However, this did not seem to be the case. The man looked like he was about to return to his cell at any moment, which confirmed Sherlock's belief that he had to spend several years in a secret prison.

When he was halfway down the corridor he looked up. He had bright eyes that gave Sherlock a slight shiver. The man had a piercing, gray look. Dangerous, indifferent, and cold. When he noticed them, he slowed down. At one point he stopped, causing the other two men to fall right into his back. His face changed in a split second. He froze, opened his mouth slightly. He didn't blink. Sherlock could see his breathing getting faster. He did not know how long they stood silently more than twenty feet apart, nor did he know what could cause such a surprise. Sherlock almost jumped when he saw his sudden movement. The man moved forward without a word, but two bodyguards grabbed him by the shoulders. They had to use all their strength to stop him in place. Unlike Sherlock, they didn't look surprised or even interested.

"Jo..." he did not finish. The security guards pulled him into the next room, but before they slammed the door, Sherlock saw something on his face that bothered him for a long time. He saw disbelief, desperation, and concern.

He looked at his friend. He was terrified because John's face was pale, almost blue with terror. He seemed to stop breathing and didn't look up. He stood staring straight ahead, his fists clenched. He didn't answer the questions. He moved only when Sherlock put his hand lightly on his shoulder. However, this was not the reaction he expected. He didn't think John would ever flinch and stand back, feeling his closeness. Sherlock felt a piercing shock and pain when John jumped in surprise, knocked his hand away, and stood against the wall. Dozens of thoughts immediately appeared in his head about why his friend had reacted in this way. One thing was certain. They must have known each other for a long time. But what did they have in common? Any close relationship? Sherlock shuddered at the thought. He had found himself once in a situation where John's past had made him sadly conclude that his friend had other relationships and friendship. Whatever it was, it didn't end well. John's reaction was proof. And although Sherlock felt the pain of rejection and the pain of John's torment, he decided to find out what connected his best friend with the mysterious man from the secret cell.

\---

Almost half an hour passed before they were ready to enter the meeting room. Sherlock could count the number of words spoken by John on one hand. He was still pale and looked shocked, but slowly started to look normal. As they stepped through the door, Sherlock's attention was caught by screens hanging on the wall opposite the semicircular sofa. He guessed what they would see and what they would learn during the coming hours. Now he focused on the people who, like them, came to the secret meeting. He noticed several men and one woman. Two men were talking at a table with drinks in the back of the room. They tried to encourage the archer to talk, but she ignored them. The third man was sitting on the couch completely uninterested in the surroundings. He looked like he was there against his will. When Sherlock's gaze fell on the fourth person, his body froze. He wanted to turn to John and give him some courage, which he was strangely missing too. He did not do it. He looked at the man staring at them. He sat on the couch and ignored all but one person around. John. He looked at him with intensity and fiery eyes. It was obvious that he could barely resist getting up and moving toward them. However, he must have felt the presence of two bodyguards behind him, because he didn't even move his finger. He watched Sherlock and John approach the couch and take a seat opposite him. Sherlock finally had the opportunity to look at him closely, though the man paid no attention to him. He was staring at John and focused only on him. When Sherlock turned his head to see how his friend was dealing with this situation, he noticed a change in his behavior. John sat upright with his head raised. He was looking at the man and although he was pale, it was clear that the first shock was over and he was ready to face him.

They felt movement behind them. Another man stood in front of the wall with screens. He had a nice face but resembled Mycroft with his professionalism. One of his nods was enough for the room to be quiet and the security guards left without a word. Three people who were standing in the back approached the couch. The archer wondered for a long time where to sit, and finally chose a seat next to John. He seemed to her the only normal person in the room. Sherlock was not happy with her choice, but his biggest worry at the moment was not the woman but the man sitting opposite. When everyone had taken their seats, he looked at the person leading the meeting. He guessed that the man was high in the hierarchy of secret services.

"Welcome everyone. I am glad that we are all here. Your presence testifies that you value national and social values highly. Before we discuss the reason for your arrival ..."

Dear Lord... Sherlock had enough of this official tone already. The meeting hadn't started yet, and he was already bored. He managed to learn the most important information from Mycroft, so he was going to use the nearest minutes to deduce other people. He started with the least interested man. He immediately knew that he was there against his will and would take advantage of the first better opportunity to give up and return to his life. So he was not someone to pay more attention to. Right next to him sat an IT specialist, electrician, mechanic, and handyman in one. If John knew what he deduced, he would surely describe the man in one word - MacGyver. Sherlock was convinced that he could handle any situation. He was not sure about his involvement though.

"Don't you have your agents?" the archer asked, making Sherlock focus on the conversation. "How did you come up with the idea that a bunch of strangers could handle this task better?"

Sherlock wanted to smile. The girl asked the same questions that John asked Mycroft. But she did it more directly and with a less friendly voice.

The meeting leader did not look impatient. He mastered his self-control perfectly. Besides, he had to be honest and answer questions. It was his task. "It took us many months to gather your group. Each of you is a specialist in some field. We chose you not only because of your achievements but also because of your characters. The mission you were chosen for will last one and a half months, so you must at least tolerate your company. All quarrels and mismatches are not advisable in this situation. We could send specially trained people, but the chances that their mission will be successful are smaller. This is not only about skills. The most important criterion is devotion to the cause, people, and the nation. In short your characters and attitude. "

Sherlock has heard that already. He would have liked to have turned to his brother who was standing quietly behind the sofa. He wanted to ask if everyone involved in the case had learned this type of answer by heart. Instead, he focused on analyzing the next participant. He looked the least matching their company. He had a young boy's face and shiny eyes. Hands of music and philanthropist. He was a ladies' man. Women were his sense of life. His behavior, perfumes, impeccable hairstyle, and glances he gave the archer testified to the fact that he considered every woman on her way a goddess and treated her as well. His ability was his fluent knowledge of languages. He also owned an excellent memory. He left the mysterious man at the end. He wanted to know everything about him. He was the only one who has not spoken a word yet. While others asked questions and took part in the discussion, the mysterious man was silent. The only thing he did was watch John. He was not disturbed by the significant grunts of the leader or the quiet admonitions of the other men who gave up after a few minutes at the beginning of the meeting. Sherlock was so absorbed in the deduction that he didn't notice the silence in the room. He looked around. Everyone sat in silence and the meeting leader waited for some reaction. He realized that the time had now come to declare their participation in the mission.

"Please, listen to me. This is the first and last chance to make a decision. If any of you do not feel right or do not agree to participate in this mission, you can leave. You will not be stopped by anyone. However, those who stay must know that there will be no turning back later. The details you will hear must only stay between us. "

Sherlock was not surprised when one of the men got up without a word from the couch and went towards the door, wishing them luck. Nobody commented on it in a word. They knew well what consequences their decisions might have had. They understood the man who had been playing with his wedding ring all this time as if letting them know that family was most important to him and he did not intend to risk his health or even his life. The moment the door closed behind him, the atmosphere in the room was even darker and more depressing. Everyone wondered what to do. How the upcoming decision will affect their lives. Sherlock felt that time had stopped. Nobody dared to speak or look up. Seconds and minutes passed in overwhelming silence.

"What are the chances that we will accomplish this fucking mission?" one of the men finally asked. It was the one Sherlock considered a handyman. His voice spread around the room, drawing the attention of others. They were also curious about the answers.

The leader of the meeting swallowed but did not show any nervousness. "The chance for this mission to succeed is thirty to thirty-five percent."

The silence again proved that his words were effective.

"And the chance that we all will come back home?" This time ladies' man spoke. His voice did not hide his fears but he wanted to know.

"About twenty percent" this time the leader's voice was even quieter. Still, he looked at them with his head raised.

"Damn me, if I know what's going on here ... That's all? And yet you insist on sending us there?" the archer was nervous.

Sherlock felt John tense his body. Nobody said anything for a long time. The numbers shocked them, and the knowledge that they had to make their decisions so quickly was overwhelming. Sherlock was expecting a hard task, but he didn't think the task would be so difficult, and what's more, that Mycroft would be so desperate to let him and John join the group. He liked adrenaline and liked to provide it to John because he knew he was addicted to it. He hoped, however, that the worst and most dangerous cases were either behind them or he had time to prepare for them. He hoped that he would be able to use the following months to get closer to John. He did not want to delay his plan and resolutions, especially since the task they were facing was so dangerous. Sherlock didn't know how he would survive the next few months if John decided to participate in the mission. He heard a slightly hoarse voice of a friend who once again broke the silence in the room.

"Apart from the numbers ..." he said and waved his hand lightly. "... Is the data we have to collect worth our lives and the lives of other people, which we will probably have to kill along the way?"

The leader hesitated for a long time before answering. He looked John in the eyes. "Yes".

Sherlock saw as John nod in understanding. When he turned and their eyes met, he already knew. He knew the answer. He knew what prevailed in John's mind and could read the answer in his eyes. Oh, John. And his romantic soul. He was always ready to sacrifice himself for the good of others. He believed that he could achieve anything with Sherlock. That they can overcome any obstacle. Sherlock felt the pride and incredible euphoria that accompanied him every time John looked at him that way.

"I am in" John declared as the first person.

Sherlock almost smiled. What was he supposed to do? It was unthinkable for him to leave him alone. He knew it would not be easy. It never was, but his love for John was stronger than anything else. He always wanted to be with him, look after him, and be sure that he was in no danger. It was difficult because they had always been involved in dangerous situations, but Sherlock knew that John was always doing the right thing. Of course, he had no other option. He looked up and took a deep breath to confirm his participation.

"Me too".

He froze, his voice stuck in his throat. He looked at the man who caught his greatest interest from the very beginning. The man was watching John closely. John shuddered when he heard his voice. Sherlock was angry. Not only because the stranger was the first person to support John with his decision. He was furious at the fact that he caused such emotions. Negative emotions. John tried to hold on, but his pale face betrayed his nervousness, although he certainly expected that this would be the decision of the other man.

The meeting leader breathed a sigh of relief. "Excellent. So Dr. John Watson and Mr. Sebastian Moran are already in the team ..."

Sherlock frowned. _Moran? Moran ..._ He's heard the name earlier.

"Fuck ..." said 'handyman'. "What I can do ... I'm in it too."

A moment later, ladies' man also signaled his readiness. Sherlock nodded, as a sign that he also had to be included in the team. He didn't have time to speak. He wondered all the time how he knew Sebastian Moran. He watched the man, although he did not look at him even for a split second.

"Oh, just look at them! What a Heroes, blast it ...". The archer once again signaled her dissatisfaction. "Saviors of the world! So eagerly push their heads between wolves' fangs ...". She snorted in disbelief. She thought for a moment but finally sighed loudly. "I'm in too. I have no choice. They'll say later that the wench chickened out."

The leader of the secret meeting nodded with satisfaction. It was obvious at first glance that their decision was a great relief to him. After a few words of support and thanks, he dimmed the lights and presented the mission details on the screen. He focused on explaining their task. He indicated the territory where they were to be sent. He showed potential hiding places and dangerous areas that they should avoid. He showed places on the map where the other agents left hidden resources of both ammunition and other necessary things. He explained the path and potential options if their plan failed. Everyone listened attentively, except for one person. Sherlock.

_Moran. Sebastian Moran ..._ He knew that somewhere in Mind Palace he had that name hidden. He must have had some connections with John and his past. Judging by the behavior of his friend, their relationship ended in an unpleasant way. Painful for John. At one point Sherlock entered the right room. He remembered. He came across this name when he was checking Major Sholto's past. So Sebastian Moran was a soldier. A professional sniper. Group leader and John's friend in the army. They served in one camp and often went on missions together. Yes, everything made sense now as he looked at Moran. He saw old scars on his face. His body was still in excellent condition, although he sat in the secret service cell, for a long time. His behavior and movement remained the same as he had acquired during military training. Patience characterized snipers, and Moran was the perfect example. He was not discouraged and he pursued his goal despite unfavorable circumstances. He tirelessly watched John, his eyes never leaving him. He focused on completing the task. His task at the moment was to get his attention. Or maybe he was looking at John because at last, he had the opportunity to do it? Who knows why he came under the surveillance of the secret services and what they wanted to get out of him? What made John never mention him? But the most important question was - what did they have in common? Why was his friend so shocked to see Moran?

When Sherlock turned his head, he saw that John was following the instructions. At the same time, he tried very hard to ignore Moran's intense stare. Sherlock wanted to grab his hand. Put his fingers on John's skin. He wanted to support his friend, help him endure this difficult moment. And by the way, he could signal to Moran that John already had a partner. A partner who was ready to do anything to defend him. He didn't like the way he looked at him. His intentions were obvious. If he could, he would dispel his doubts and let him know immediately that he was ready to fight for John's feelings. That he had the right to care for him and, although they were not yet connected by anything more serious than sincere friendship, he would not let anyone approach him again. John belonged to him ... Actually, he belonged to John. It has always been this way. Sherlock's jealousy and possessiveness increased with every minute. He was so lost in the internal struggle with his own thoughts and desires that a sudden movement in the room saved him from making the last move. He realized that his hand was already in the air when the meeting leader approached the wall and pressed a small button. To Sherlock's relief, it turned out that the meeting was over, and although he did not learn any details from it, he was pleased with how much he had deduced. He saw two bodyguards enter the room and forced Moran to stand up. Sebastian stood motionless for a moment, staring at John. It would be enough for him to take two steps. He could touch him. He looked like he wanted to say something. He hesitated, but under the pressure of the bodyguards' hands, he left the room without a word. Sherlock looked at his friend. John didn't look ready to talk, but the genius didn't care. He didn't want to force him to confess. Also, knowing that he had a few weeks to learn more about their relationship was enough for him.


	3. Anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention! This is the first chapter in which you will have to make a choice. It won't affect the next chapter, but it will matter in the future. Think carefully about what you will choose and remember your first choice.

Fifteen bangs. Fifteen shots. Fifteen holes in a human-like shield. Not all of them hit the target, but it didn't matter at the moment. The most important thing was adrenaline and a feeling of power. Awareness that he was doing what he loved the most. He was told many times that he was born to do this job, that the role of a soldier was perfect for him. Now that he threw the empty magazine on the floor and grabbed the next one, John was in his world. In a world where he had control over his body and surroundings. When he raised his joined hands forward, he held the Glock, when he aimed at the shield and pressed the trigger, he was the master of the moment. It wasn't important what was happening around him, nor the curious glances he had felt on his back for three weeks. What counted was only the target and his finger at the trigger.

More bullets hit the target. They were more accurate, but John knew that he could have done it better. He could aim better, but he needed something to get him to the edge. He needed stress to keep his hand stiff and his eye perfectly focused on the target. And the coming weeks were to give him these feelings because the mission he was preparing for seemed to him more and more dangerous and extreme every day. At first, he was not convinced that his body was still suitable for this type of task. He was not young anymore, and his muscles had long forgotten about the training he had undergone in the army. So he was surprised when it turned out that he not only did quite well but also eagerly forced his body to effort. After a few days, he realized that he was in better form than he thought. He realized that running with Sherlock on the streets of London proved to be useful. His muscles and joints were proof of intense training. He felt pain and exhaustion but he could count on specialists. Their task was to make him usable. He trained and attended meetings every day so as not to think about some people. For example, about Sebastian.

He turned his head to make sure his friend was there. Sherlock stood a few feet away behind the soundproof window. He watched the training and talked to Mycroft. Actually he listened to his brother's monologue with a serious expression. When his eyes met John's, he straightened up, raised his head, and gave him a barely visible smile. John didn't know what made his friend take this attitude every time he felt his eyes on him. He did not know many other things and was irritated by it. Sherlock hasn't spoken much since they came to this secret place. He was silent and he watched closely all members of the group. But for some reason, John felt that he was under his closest observation. He saw a strange determination in his behavior and a desire to be in his company, yet he spoke rarely. Also, these stares ... For some time he realized that it was not ordinary, friendly looks. There was something strange in Sherlock's eyes. He looked at him differently. The stares were sometimes furtive, which made him even more curious because from the beginning of their acquaintance Sherlock did not feel embarrassed to look at something that interested him. This time, however, it was different. Genius looked down every time John wanted to force him to a confrontation. He looked ashamed of something. John blamed it on stress and preparation for the mission. He couldn't find another more sensible justification of why his friend was looking at him with the expression of a depressed man.

Even now, when he tried to pretend to act normal, he looked away. Not towards his brother or the documents that he was holding in his hands. Sherlock looked at the floor. The feeling of insecurity and unpleasant hit in his stomach stopped to surprise John. He experienced it all too often when Sherlock was around, and yet he was still worried when a friend behaved in such an unusual way. He was worried about what was going on in the head of the genius. Stress is one thing. After all, in a few days, they were to set out on an almost two-month mission with so little chance of success that the ticking bomb in the wagon seemed a triviality. But if John had to choose how to die, he wanted to do it alongside Sherlock. It would be an honor for him. He did not know what feelings prevailed in his friend and whether he was just as ready to die at his side. Sherlock always wore a mask of mystery and pretended to be impassive, as if he did not care about his life at all. As if John's safety was most important to him. He proved it many times. But John had never seen such stress and emotion before. It wasn't like Sherlock. So it had to be something else. Something more intimate, private. What had to do with him on an emotional level. This thought hit John like a thunderbolt. He bit his lips without taking his eyes off his friend. What if Sherlock got into information about his past with Sebastian? What if it was the reason for his strange behavior? Did he feel sorry for him? This was the worst possible option. John didn't want anyone to ever feel sorry for him. He did not want to experience it again, and the thought that his best friend would think of him in such a way caused a cold chill on his back. On the other hand, he trusted Mycroft. He wanted to believe that he wouldn't reveal details of his past. There was only one problem. Sherlock was a master of deduction. Even if he didn't have access to documents about their past, he could figure out... God knows what he figured out.

John felt sick at the very thought of what Sherlock might think of him, but he felt even worse when he thought of Sebastian. It was near the hour of his training at the shooting range. John knew that he should leave the room soon, so as not to meet with Moran, but he could not look away from the beautiful face of a friend ... Beautiful? He shook his head. What was he thinking about? Fortunately, Sherlock was too busy talking to Mycroft to see his ridiculous behavior. John took the opportunity to take a closer look at him for a second. Lucky bastard ... He hardly trained as the only one in their group. He did not train shooting, he focused only on the tips of Mycroft and other people responsible for logistics and the very purpose of the mission. He trained little, but he was still in great form. John could see it through the tight shirt on his chest, strong legs, and the way he moved trying on newly sewn clothes. Sherlock's body, as usual, did not require special preparation. A beautiful, perfect body ... John shook his head again and rubbed his eyes. What was happening to him? Has he completely lost his mind or what? He hoped that it was Sebastian's fault and all this mess, not the feelings he had a hard time restraining, but somehow he managed to control and hide the distraction from the curious eyes of his friend.

He returned to the previous position. He aimed the Glock at the shield, focused his eyes on the target, and pulled the trigger again and again. He heard shots of his weapon, as well as irregular bangs from the weapon held by Josh, who stood two stands away and tried to hit the shield at least once. Josh wasn't the type of aggressor. He was a womanizer, and yet his talents made such an impression on special agents that it was decided to include him into the group. John had to admit that he liked him. He had a talent for winning people over. He liked to play the guitar, compose dirty songs, and was lazy to do everything that was not about romances, but when there were no women nearby, Josh was an interesting companion of conversation. One of his biggest vices was to ignore advice and do everything his own way, for which others have often blamed him. Mostly Lucy, who wasn't at all interested in his flirt attempts. She reacted in her typical way. Josh didn't seem worried, offended, or even discouraged by her words. He had many qualities that John valued, but he had to admit one thing - Josh was a terrible shooter. From the beginning, everyone realized that if - and actually when - there would be a fight and shootings, they would have to protect Josh, not count on his help.

"Ha! I did it!" Josh jumped with excitement. "Have you seen it, John? I've hit the target! I'm ready now."

John smiled slightly. So what if the bullet penetrated the very corner of the target, passing absolutely every line of the drawn man? The most important thing was Josh's joy and the fact that after so many days he finally managed to aim and hit the target. That target was a large cardboard shield hanging several dozen feet away. Of course, it was pure luck, but John was not going to take his moment of happiness away. He lowered his hands and turned his head towards him.

"Don't practice until you get it right. Practice until you can't get it wrong" A clear, calm voice spread across the room.

John froze. He looked at Sebastian, who was standing in the doorway and was staring at him. He covered the door with his body, preventing security guards from entering the room. Their patience, however, had a limit, so after a while they pushed Moran into the room and stood next to him, pretending to be uninterested in their surroundings. Bruises and scratches covered their faces. Their wrists were wrapped with bandages, and one of them licked his cracked lip. Sebastian looked just like them. John knew why. He didn't meet Moran yesterday. For too long he lived with him in one camp in Afghanistan not to know, that strength solutions were his favorite way to achieve his goal. He also knew why he had beaten the bodyguards and other agents who had to intervene. Such situations have happened several times, all because Sebastian could not do what he wanted. Until their departure for the mission, he was strictly forbidden to approach him, and yet he tried to do it. Many times. In the end, however, he gave up, because he knew that soon he would have the best opportunity to be alone with him. In a place where John couldn't escape. In a distant area in southern Asia. In a place where they will have to work together to achieve the goal.

John thought he had gotten used to the thought. He accepted it, but the sight of Sebastian made his face pale. He felt all the muscles in his body involuntarily clench, he lost his breath, and all thoughts vanished from his head. Earlier he would consider it as a sign of infatuation, falling in love, or on the contrary - fear, and panic - but his feelings for Sebastian were much more complicated. Moran destroyed him. He broke him in every possible way. It was because of him that he lost confidence. He hated himself for some time and closed his heart to men. Meeting him again after all these years was a shock. It hurt him, and the memories he tried to get rid of came back with redoubled force. When he saw him for the first time three weeks earlier, he realized that he would never be free from what had happened between them. That Sebastian will always stay with him and that he is part of who he has become. In the dimly lit corridor, he looked the same as the day he last saw him. He hasn't changed at all. His piercing eyes, desperate, penetrated him right through. Short hair and sharp facial hair were the same. His strong arms that...

No. He didn't want to go back to those memories. It was too painful. He had been standing still too long and let Sebastian watch his reactions. John wanted to use every moment when they were still separated by the strong hands of security guards and several floors of the secret building in which they lived. He took off his earmuffs. He put down his gun and moved empty magazines that cluttered the ground with his foot. He didn't look up as he walked toward the door, though he felt Moran and Sherlock's gaze on him. He sucked a breath as he approached Sebastian. Each step was getting harder and harder. With every breath, he knew he was approaching his nightmare. He wasn't too surprised when he had to stop, feeling familiar, and a strong grip on his shoulder. Moran grabbed him firmly and tight. Like a vise gripping a bar. There was no point in trying to break free. Sebastian was unaware of the strength and force with which his fingers tightened on the doctor's shoulder. John was fighting with himself. He didn't want to show the pain he felt. He remembered those fingers and their power. There was no point in breaking his grip now. He looked straight into the bright eyes of Sebastian, who towered over him and dangerously brought his face toward him. The guards shuddered but froze, casting questioning and expectant glances in Mycroft's direction. Both Holmes brothers ended their discussion and watched the scene from behind the armored glass.

Sebastian tried to control his body. His true intentions were betrayed by fast breathing and pulse. He was silent for a long time, staring into John's eyes and mouth. His face was close. John could feel the trembling air warmed by Moran's breath. "You didn't empty the magazine" his rough, hoarse voice sounded quietly in the room. "You have two bullets left."

He did not answer. With a raised head, he accepted the invitation to confrontation. He wondered how long Sebastian had watched him, that he had even counted the number of bullets fired. He also had to see the way he was looking at his friend. He turned his face to the glass room at the back of the shooting range. He wasn't surprised by what he saw. Mycroft and Sherlock watched them in suspense and silence. The older brother held a hand on the younger man's chest and tried to stop him from running out of the room. Sherlock looked like he was about to move toward them at any moment. The grip on John's shoulder became even stronger. He thought Sebastian was about to break his bone. He grimaced, looked at him, and grabbed his wrist. He knew he had no chance with him. Whenever Sebastian wanted, he showed how great strength lay in his athletic body. John clenched his fingers as hard as he could and looked him in the eye.

"Let me look at you for a little longer." This time Sebastian's voice was barely audible. He leaned over John and murmured the request directly into his ear.

"You'll have two months to do it. Is that not enough for you?" John was not surprised at his hoarse answer. For several moments he felt his throat was dry.

"No".

The two bodyguards who stared at Mycroft in confusion, looking for hints and instructions from him, finally decided to react. They grabbed Sebastian by the shoulders. John stared at his determined stare for a moment. Eventually, the grip relaxed and he was able to free his arm. He left the room without looking back.

He had already got to know the building in which he had lived for over three weeks. He knew which corridor to turn and what door to get through to get to his destination. He also knew that he would never know what was on some floors. They were a closed area and only authorized persons could enter it. Even Sherlock, who often tried to slip along with his brother, was turned back and scolded by Mycroft. Four floors and a training ground had to be enough for their group. Although they had the right to enter several secret rooms underground, John did not go there. He walked between the canteen, his room, and training rooms. He missed the view of nature, but he knew that he would soon be able to enjoy it to the point of satiety. He thought about the coming months and tried to ignore his stomach, which had been demanding attention for a long time. He decided to accustom his body to rarer and smaller portions of food. He passed an elegant cafeteria and headed straight for one of the rooms, which was open to them around the clock. The room was large and dimly lit. There were tables and various things spread out that could have been useful on a mission. All things were at their disposal. The whole group was thoroughly examined. Their predispositions were measured and an upper limit was placed on the weight they could lift and which was not risky for their health. Besides the most necessary things such as change of clothes, shoes, and weapons, each of them could take other useful items exhibited and prepared by specialists working in secret services. John was slowly completing his backpack. Every day he added one thing that could be useful to the group during the mission. He was slowly approaching his forty-four pounds limit, but now, as he stood in front of the full tables in the large room, everything seemed necessary. Maybe he should take more battery? Map? Maybe spare shoes or extra medical equipment? What if something serious happens to one of them and he doesn't have the right tools because he'll make the wrong choice? He faced such a dilemma almost every day as he entered the room. He knew that the others also had problems before making final decisions.

At one point he felt a pleasant scent. He didn't even have to turn his head to know who had entered the room.

"Finally a friendly face. I've had enough of Josh's wooing and Sherlock's ignorance. Your friend is a total buffoon." As usual, Lucy didn't care. She entered the room with her hands in her pockets and looked at the objects on the tables. After a moment she looked up and gave him a friendly smile.

"Sherlock is more friendly when he lets someone get to know him better," he said and only looked at her for a split second, raising the corner of his mouth.

"I'll take your word for it. We've been sit in this concrete prison for three weeks ..." she said, looking around, "and he keeps his distance as if each of us was smeared in some shit. Although on the other hand, I think... maybe it's because of stress? " A silent question appeared on her expressive and beautiful face. "Or maybe he just found someone special and decided to focus on that person."

Her smirk and playful tone made John immediately decide to put her right. "Sherlock and I are just friends."

She shrugged as if she didn't care. John had more than once assured her that his relationship with Sherlock was purely friendly, but she apparently did not believe him. She leaned her hips on the table and sighed. "If you say so ... I don't care, but I'm slowly beginning to feel sorry for him."

John frowned. He straightened up and put away the things he was holding. "Why does everyone think we are a couple?"

"Maybe it's because we see how you look at yourself? And especially how he stares at you."

"How?" he asked, blinking quickly and placing a hand on his hip.

"How? He stares at you when you don't look at him. He looks like a starving mongrel. John, we've known each other for several weeks and I'll tell you one thing. If my friend looked at me the way he stares at you I would have two choices. Either hit him in the teeth or grab him by his collar and kiss him. You could finally decide on something too because the very sight of his face and indecision is getting on my nerves."

He lowered his eyes. He didn't know what to say or how to react. Lucy was the first to put it so directly. He had long since lost hope that someday something more would connect him with Sherlock. In fact, he knew from the very beginning that the matter was hopeless. He didn't want to raise hope again. When Lucy broached the subject, she unwittingly scratched the old wounds and hurt him, though he knew that it was not her intention.

Lucy changed the subject. She saw that she should not talk about Sherlock and his fascination with a friend. She cleared her throat nervously and straightened, looking away from the things lying on the tables. "Haven't completed your backpack yet?"

John was pleased to change the subject of the conversation. "It's hard for me to choose. I wonder what could be useful to us, but each thing seems more important than the other."

"And they say wenches can't make up their minds."

John raised an eyebrow. "Have you packed up yet?"

"Ha! Even before leaving home. There is nothing to pore over the choice. What will you take, you will take. There will be no turning back and we will have to manage somehow".

It was the truth. John realized that he would not be able to influence many things, and what he packs into a backpack can be useful or completely unnecessary. He wanted to ask Lucy about staying at home and whether it was hard for her to leave their loved ones. However, he abandoned this idea. What she did on her last trip was her business and he wasn't going to ask her. Most importantly, she had the opportunity to talk to and spend time with her family before leaving for the mission. He and Sherlock also had the option of returning to Baker Street but decided to stay there. The sight of Mrs. Hudson and the awareness that they might see her for the last time was a reason for John to resign from returning home for several days. He preferred to save himself and his beloved hostess difficult times.

"What do you want to take?" Lucy asked, drawing his attention.

Instead of answering, John picked up two things he had been thinking about for a long time.

"Middle Eastern language dictionary?" she asked, taking the thick book in her hand. "What do you need it for? Are you going to learn languages? That's what this hoarse from singing gigolo is for." Lucy pointed her thumb behind her back.

John smiled. "Josh knows many languages and we count on his help, but what if something happens to him? What if he loses his voice for some reason? Or hearing?" He did not mention Sherlock's ability to learn languages quickly and effectively consciously. He knew that sometimes it was worth not mentioning a fact, especially since others did not need to know about it.

"I wouldn't mind. Maybe he would stop singing those dirty songs that sound like he composed them with his friends under a beer booth. But you're right. The more you understand and know, the better your situation is." She put down the dictionary and took a Beretta from John's palms. A heavy pistol that could barely fit into their hands. "And this? Don't you have enough of the weapons? What do you need it for?" she asked, turning the gun in each direction and aiming straight ahead.

John nodded. Indeed, in his equipment, he could not complain about the lack of guns, knives, and other weapons. He knew he had enough of it. Besides, Sebastian probably packed as many pistols and rifles with him as a small police station has. "Any gun can be useful. I'd rather have something behind my belt instead of fighting with my bare fists if our backpacks and other equipment were lost. Besides ..." John gently took the weapon from her hand. "Look only at this beauty".

Lucy smiled. She knew that look. She smiled like that each time, she looked at the new bow she was buying for her collection. John liked weapons and looked great with one in his hand. A dangerous flash of light in his eye and a small smile was proof that who once had the taste of adrenaline and the danger of war, always missed this feeling. "Or maybe you need it for Moran, huh?" she asked, lifting a corner of her mouth at John's surprised expression. "Ignore him. You can handle it with or without a weapon. Anyway, whatever you choose, I doubt whether it will affect our mission. It is better to believe in yourself and your skills than stick to the thought that an ordinary object will change what is destined for us ".

\---

Three weeks of hard training slowly gave results. He saw it in his reflection in the mirror as he stood shirtless. His stomach was slowly beginning to look like during his service in Afghanistan, and his skin became firm again. He was glad that he would regain the fitness he had during his service in the army. He liked it. It was also easier for him to accept his imperfections, which he could not overcome in any way. Exercises and diet made him feel more self-confident. Seeing his short stubble on his face, he was reminded of the days of the desert wilderness he'd spent alongside other soldiers. He felt good again, but his good mood was destroyed by a red bruise on his shoulder. He looked at the place Sebastian grabbed with such force. He remembered his fingers, his breath, and determination in his eyes. He has not changed. Even after so many years, he did not change his behavior and habits. He was still confident and determined to achieve what he wanted. Even if he had to use force. The red trace of his fingers reminded John too much of it. He grimaced when he touched the wounded place. Sebastian had always hurt him, and although John believed that he had mostly done it unknowingly, he preferred to avoid being alone with him. He clenched his teeth because he knew that perseverance would be the most important thing for him before they started their mission in unknown areas in Asia.

He decided to look at the things he wanted to take with him. He left the bathroom and went to bed. He had put all the objects there before. He stood next to the bed, put his hands on his hips, and began to analyze his choices. Besides changing clothes and two pairs of additional shoes, he decided to take a few weapons, knives, and a medical kit. Each member of their group also received specially prepared packages with things that special agents could use every day. John didn't know what they were for, but judging by Arian's face who specialized in sapper, engineering, and computer science, he knew it would be useful. He was too absorbed in thoughts to respond appropriately to a knock on the door. He just mumbled something and heard a soft click a moment later. A long moment passed, but he didn't notice anyone beside him. He turned his head toward the door. He frowned because Sherlock, who entered the room, looked strange. As if he hesitated to enter the room. He stood still and didn't know where to look. John thought his friend stopped breathing for a moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked without changing his position.

This question got Sherlock out of a weird state. He blinked several times and looked up. He slowly approached him, but what surprised John the most was that he was staring straight into his eyes. As if he saw something unusual in them or as if he was afraid to look elsewhere. Like he was ... ashamed? John shook his head and snorted softly under his breath. He couldn't believe that Sherlock was still not used to seeing his naked chest after so many years. He looked away and again focused on the objects on the bedding.

"I have a feeling that something is missing here. That I have forgotten something that may be needed." He felt a friend beside him. Sherlock didn't say a word. "I know I shouldn't, but for some reason, I am happy to feel this thrill. This is about the lives of many people but I ..." He paused for a moment and sighed. "You were right. I'm addicted to adrenaline." He turned his head and tried to control the shiver that overwhelmed his body. Sherlock's piercing gaze made him feel goosebumps. Sherlock was silent and stared at his body in such a way that John wanted to wrap himself in a blanket or grab his shirt. He watched a friend who opened his mouth slightly and stretched out his fingers to touch something. He realized that Sherlock's attention was focused on the red bruise on his shoulder.

Finally, the strange silence must have reached the consciousness of the genius. He shook himself from some trance, because the fingers with which he wanted to touch him, he brushed his hair. He cleared his throat, straightened up, and looked away.

John also felt somehow strange because of this unusual intimacy. "Sebastian ... has always been rough," he said to break the silence. "I doubt if he realizes his strength and the fact that he hurts others." He knew he should bite his tongue. Talking with Sherlock about Moran could end up telling him what he wanted to forget. Sherlock had the gift of getting information out of people, even the most secretive and personal, and John did not want to explain his relationship with Sebastian. Relationships that ended almost ten years earlier. He had to direct his friend's thoughts to other tracks, so he leaned over and reached for one of the pistols. He ran his fingers over its shiny structure. "Colt M1911. The best gun I've ever had in my hand. If I had one in Afghanistan, maybe I wouldn't get a shot."

Sherlock also apparently felt that this was not a good time to talk about Moran. He gladly agreed to John's awkward and obvious attempt to change the topic. He looked at the gun in his hand and smiled slightly as if this sight pleased him. Maybe it was. John didn't know what was going on in his mind, but he saw that Sherlock was looking at his fingers as much as at the weapon.

"If I could, I would take two. And take the third gun home with me ..."

"If you don't have more space in your backpack, I'll take what you want for you."

John raised an eyebrow and smiled. "You will be above the limit."

Sherlock shrugged. "I will give up something".

"What for example? Cigarettes?" He had to control his amusement when he saw his friend's surprised expression. "Yes, I've seen you pack several packs in a bag." He leaned over the bed to put down the gun. "Sebastian smokes too. You will not run out of cigarettes." He wanted to hit his face. He started talking about Moran again, though he tried to avoid it at all costs. He didn't hear the answer. He looked away at his friend, who for some reason was quiet and behaved completely unlike himself. Something must have worried him. John knew it was serious and they would have to talk about it. He was silent. He waited for his friend to start the conversation and say what was bothering him. In the meantime, he went to the chair, grabbed the black T-shirt, and put it on. He relaxed immediately. He felt strange when Sherlock looked at him in such a strange way. When he returned to his friend, he noticed that Sherlock was really worried about something. He avoided his eyes and had trouble controlling his breathing. John was worried. He put a hand on his shoulder, which surprised his friend. Sherlock looked at him and smiled nervously. He didn't shake his hand off his shoulder. He stood still, but then stared at the floor, as he used to do when things got stressful, or he had something to say that worried him.

"John ..." his voice was serious and slightly hoarse. It was hard for him to say any words. "I didn't tell you this before because I didn't want to upset you ... We both know what happened when we talked about it last time..."

He frowned. He guessed where the conversation was going. He didn't want to think again - when he felt so hurt and disappointed with Sherlock that he hadn't contacted him for two years and pretended to be dead. It was one of the worst if not the worst moments in his life. But he had to survive it. Whatever Sherlock had to tell him had to be difficult for him too. John was silent, staring at his friend and felt his accelerated pulse under his hand.

"I told myself that I would not return to ... London ..."

John's heart skipped a beat for a split second. However, he immediately felt a twinge and disappointment. He hoped for a moment that Sherlock would replace the word 'London' with 'to you'. He rebuked himself for it because, despite the time, this strange hope was still burning in him, which he should have abandoned many years earlier.

"... until I can be sure that Moriarty does not threaten us. I made a mistake and now we have to deal with it again." He gathered enough courage to look up and finally look him in the eye. "Forgive me".

John frowned even more.

"Forgive me for not being able to finish it right. That I'm putting you in danger again." He seemed to lose all his strength and courage because he made a move as if he wanted to lower his head and look at the ground. He didn't do it just because John's eyes didn't let him. "This time I know I need you. I don't want to make the same mistake. I know that I can't make it without your help."

John knew that Sherlock could play one of his trained roles, but for some reason, he also knew he was really thinking what he said. The two-year mission taught him that it is better to trust his best friend and not expose him to painful experiences and mourning again. He might have had good intentions at the time, but now the matter was too serious to face it again alone. He was glad that Sherlock finally seemed to appreciate his help and presence. He felt almost euphoric at the thought of a two-month mission alongside his friend. It wasn't just the euphoria associated with adrenaline. He enjoyed the opportunity to spend time with him the way he had never done it before. They were to experience weeks full of danger and closeness at the same time. Sleeping in the open air and fighting adversities in unknown areas. Weeks of supporting and relying only on each other. For now, John had seen only the positives, but he knew that it would verify the first days and the first major crises that would surely await their group. He liked the idea of sleeping right next to each other and hugging each other to warm up on rainy days. The images in his head were so tempting and dangerous that he forgot for a moment that the reality was not as colorful as in his hidden dreams. He sobered up only when he realized that the hand he had been holding on his friend's shoulder so far went slowly and gently up his neck and stopped on his pale cheek. Sherlock stared at him with visible surprise in his eyes. He blinked quickly and his skin was getting warmer. John wanted to pull him down. Put his fingers on his back and feel his body next to him. It was dangerous and completely unlike him. Sherlock might have thought something wrong about him. He was the least afraid to show what he really felt for his friend. He was afraid of rejection, which he would be sure if his feelings were ever revealed. He straightened up. He cleared his throat. He took his hand from Sherlock's cheek when the genius made a strange move as if he wanted to cuddle into his warm hand. He didn't notice it. He was too absorbed in not showing his true intentions. He patted Sherlock on the back so hard that the genius almost lost his balance and fell forward.

"What with this negative attitude, Sherlock? Of course, we can handle it. In the end, I'll be there to do things right." He gave him a wide smile and took a step back. He was pleased with the effect of his words. He saw a genuine smile and amusement on his friend's face. He was grateful for the gift of ironic commenting on reality, which in these situations was most useful to him. He saw the way Sherlock reacted every time he managed to make a sarcastic comment that he appreciated his company for that.

"The biggest challenge will be to withstand these few weeks in our group." He turned to the bed. He had to cool off this sudden surge of thoughts and feelings. He needed normality, so he decided to focus on something other than staring into Sherlock's bright eyes. He leaned over the things he was going to take with him and began to stack them unhurriedly, then packed them into a bag. "Mycroft's people may be specialists and may have selected us for this mission in terms of characters, but the theory is often out of practice. It's different to match people on paper and to send them into the wilderness for several weeks and counting on the fact that they will not kill each other. "

"I tried to explain to Mycroft that we could do better on our own, but he seems to have a different opinion." John didn't have to turn around to know that his friend was looking over his shoulder at what he was doing. "Focus on us and pay no attention to others."

He smiled to himself. Sherlock has always believed in their abilities and that they both can do the impossible. He straightened up and, holding a small pile of medical stuff in his hand, turned to the genius. "Maybe it won't be that bad eventually," he said with slight amusement. "Josh will make time for us with his guitar. Lucy with her comments about life and Arian's curses will help us not to fall into depression." He put the things he was holding in the bag. "But when we get back, we have to think about how to show Mycroft our dissatisfaction with this decision," he said with a raised corner of his mouth.

"We'll have time to plan our revenge." Sherlock also did not hide his amusement. He was genuinely interested in John's offer. After all, the possibility of teasing his brother was too tempting to reject it. "Two months to be more specific."

"I'd say I'm starting to feel sorry for him, but I'm not in the mood to lie."

They stood in silence with smiles on their faces. John enjoyed such moments. He felt a thrill at the thought of the coming weeks, which was associated with the fact that his best friend would be right at his side. Sherlock also seemed excited. They behaved as if they did not understand or did not allow themselves to think that they might not return from this dangerous mission. The most important thing was what they had now. They left negative thoughts behind them. John remembered the emotions that accompanied him during his mission in Afghanistan. He had to admit that he missed it, although everyday life with Sherlock was also full of unusual and dangerous situations. But now they had to do a much more serious task that they were ready to face. Together. Hand in hand. In Sherlock's mind, such thoughts must prevail too. He stood with a cheerful face, staring at John and looking like he was about to say something more. John has seen such a face more and more recently. He wondered what that meant.

Sherlock kept his eyes on him, he did it only when the calm in the room turned into a rather uncomfortable silence. He looked away and nodded at a single object lying on the table next to the bed. "It's a good choice," he said with confidence.

John followed his gaze. He looked at the thing he decided to take with him on the mission. He still had doubts, but now that his friend approved his choice, he felt more confident. He just hoped he didn't make a mistake that happened even to a genius like Sherlock.

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What did John decide to take with him on the mission?

[An additional gun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863792/chapters/60440008) [Dictionary of Middle Eastern languages](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863792/chapters/60440008)

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	4. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Chapter contains curses

"Two minutes!" a robot-like man wearing a helmet shouted and raised two fingers toward the silent group. He was a soldier, specially trained for this type of task, so the sight of their scared, uncertain and doubting faces, did not impress him. He turned and checked the rope for the last time.

John felt his fingers were numb and cold. Stress gave way to adrenaline and a strange euphoria that took control of his body in dangerous situations. He stood up like the rest of his group and approached the rear of the shaking military helicopter. The sound of propellers, the noise of engines, and loud orders given by the commanding soldier reminded him of the days spent in Afghanistan. About missions and danger. Everything was the same. Everything but one. At the moment he was surrounded by laymen, rather than veterans, for whom the jump from the machine hanging above the ground was a trivial matter. It was dark, but he turned to look at their terrified faces. Lucy and Josh were adjusting their backpacks, trying to focus on something other than what was waiting outside. Arian was chewing something and scratching his shoulder, and Sebastian ... as always, did not take his eyes off him. He stood close. Through thick layers of clothing, John could feel his warmth on his back. However, it wasn't Moran who was his biggest concern. It was Sherlock. He was standing a few feet away. His proud attitude and calm breathing, however, could not deceive John. He knew his friend too well and knew that in this way he masked his uncertainty and stress. He couldn't read his face, because his glasses and mask stretched almost to the very base of his nose prevented him from doing so. Anyway, the darkness and uncontrolled movements of the machine prevented him from looking closely at anyone.

The helicopter hung in the air. The soldier pulled the rope, looked outside, and nodded that their journey together was over and their fate was now in their own hands. Sebastian came to the rope first as the group commander. He passed John, brushing his body. He pointed at something, but John didn't care. He was worried about Sherlock the most because they might have practiced climbing and sliding the rope many times, but he was worried about how he would handle this task in complete darkness. Sebastian grabbed the rope and disappeared into the dark. Arian was next. He looked outside, cursed loudly, and slid down. Now John approached the soldier and the rope. Darkness and a strong wind stressed him, but he still sincerely hoped that the helicopter was no more than thirty feet above the ground and that his landing would not have a catastrophic effect. He grabbed the rope between his hands, clenched his fingers, and jumped into the dark of the night. He tried to see the ground at all costs, but he couldn't do it. When he was halfway to the ground an uncontrolled blow of wind, or maybe it was a helicopter's shake, made him loosen his grip and lost control for a split second. He would have fallen on the stony ground and he would have broken his leg, were it not for the strong arms he felt around his waist. Sebastian, seeing his problems, released the rope and helped him land safely. It took a moment, but John thought about the time they were together. When with the same strong arms ... He had to pull back because Lucy was already coming down. She landed on the ground and ran after Arian, who had long ago disappeared somewhere in the dark. Sherlock was next. He emerged from the helicopter and hung in the air. John watched his efforts. Fortunately, he did better than he did. In a few seconds, he stood on the ground and raised his head. John thought he was saying something, but the noise of the wind and the noise of the helicopter effectively drowned out his words. John knew that he should have followed Arian and Lucy to the nearest rock long ago. Sebastian, who pushed the genius, was thinking the same thing because there was another person from their group in the helicopter, and they were still at the landing place. Sherlock staggered, fell forward, and would lose his balance completely if it had not been for John's strong embrace, who grabbed him and without a word started running forward.

The whole operation did not last even a minute. John had the impression that his run through the rocky gorge towards the lonely rock whose shape was sketched in the increasingly shining sky lasted much longer. He ran and ran. Cold air leaked through the mask on his face, causing pain in his lungs. His feet hooked on uneven terrain and protruding stones. The large rock probably belonging to one of the mountain walls that surrounded the gorge on three sides, was the only place where they could take refuge and gather in a group. When John finally reached his destination, he leaned his arm on the cold rock and bent in half, trying to control the blood that buzzed in his head and his breath. It was a difficult task. He felt like he was running a marathon. Ultimately, however, he forced his body to make another effort. He straightened up, took a few deep breaths, and turned his head to look at his friend. Sherlock was panting a little less, and his slightly wrinkled eyes were proof to John that his friend was having fun. He imagined his smile, but unfortunately, the mask covered it.

"It's dark ..." the genius said, trying to control his breath, "but the sun will start rising soon," he nodded towards the glow. "People will start talking," he added, looking into his eyes.

John didn't quite know what was going on. He looked around. He saw Lucy, who was leaning back against the rock and with her eyes closed trying to control her breathing. Arian was squatting next to her. John turned to his friend and realized what he was talking about. He smiled and snorted softly as he released his hand, which he kept tightly clenched in his hand all the time. Sherlock did not hide his amusement. The slight wrinkles around his eyes never disappeared from his face. John's entertainment ceased as he realized that he had released Sherlock's hand at the last moment because Sebastian and Josh were already reaching the rock. They also seemed tired of this sprint, although Josh was the most exhausted one. Moran was doing great. He breathed only a few times and slowly looked at the group. Then he focused his eyes on the doctor. He stared at him long and insistently. To the point that John was about to admonish him, using his sarcasm, but ultimately he didn't have to.

"Let's go" Sebastian's firm voice echoed quietly in the ravine, drowned out only by the whistling of the wind and the trees rustling in the distance.

They obeyed. They followed the group commander without a word. Cold air, a terrifying wind, and a sense of emptiness forced them to look for a safer hideout at the bottom of the mountains. They walked slowly and carefully. The mountain area abounded in dangerous places. Small rocks, sharp stones, rough terrain. Also, the darkness, which fortunately gave way to the slowly rising sun. With the passing time and the road, the air became less freezing. Bald rocks began to mix occasionally with trees and individual tufts of grass. They were pleased to observe the change in surroundings. Sebastian was the only negative element in this situation. Or rather his uncompromising attitude. He didn't want to let them rest and take a short break. He determined in advance where they should arrive before noon and nothing could change his mind. He walked forward boldly. Sometimes he turned around to see how the others were doing. John was sure he was Moran's target. Several times he found himself looking at him. He promised himself that he would not look up again, and would not speak until the first stop.

After three hours of walking, hunger and sun were beginning to bother them. They went down the slopes and saw hectares of forest. They could already see the pleasant shade of the spreading crowns of the trees and the smell of pine needles rolling on the ground in the lush grass. For now, however, they had to deal with the road paved with stones. Each of them quietly hoped that when they reached the green border, Moran would decide to take the first break. They could almost smell the food and the heat of the fire. John wanted nothing more than to throw off a heavy backpack, remove stones that had somehow managed to get into his shoes and warm his frozen hands over the fire. He was also going to talk to Sherlock because he was quiet and gloomy. On the other hand, he was worried about Sebastian's lack of action. He knew him and was convinced that whenever he had the opportunity, he would make him talk. That he would cling to him and force him to explain their separation. Meanwhile, apart from glances, Sebastian did not seem eager to talk. Maybe he has changed? Maybe he understood and regrets? These thoughts ran through John's head from time to time. He wanted to believe that whatever had happened to Moran during these ten years had changed him enough to finally let go of the possessive nature of their unstable relationship. Unfortunately, the greatest faith was sometimes not enough. Anyone who met Sebastian once knew that he never gave up. And John knew that. He guessed that Moran wanted to lull his attention or give him time to prepare for the conversation, which was to happen sooner or later. Whatever was going to happen, John felt his body contract in anticipation and uncertainty. He wanted to do it and move on. The first conversation after so many years of separation could not take place in a friendly atmosphere. He just hoped that he would be able to talk to Sebastian away from the curious eyes of the other members of the group, especially Sherlock. He preferred to keep a secret from him in this case.

The last obstacle on their way was the rock from which they had to jump down, and later to get straight to the forest line. The rock was flat as if specially prepared by nature. Next to it were smaller stones. John concluded that the breach had been caused by an avalanche, or that the rock had simply crumbled and rolled down the slope. They came to the edge and looked down. A dozen feet difference did not seem like a big obstacle. Sebastian was the first. He jumped down efficiently and stepped aside, making room for the next person. Sherlock and John did the same. Lucy jumped down like a doe, giving the impression that the obstacle was not even worth commenting on. Her shapely movements did not escape the doctor's attention, and his look and smile were noticed by Sherlock and Sebastian. Josh had a little trouble. He crouched down, put his hands on the ground, and slowly dropped his body down the rock. When he was getting ready to jump, part of the rock broke away and remained in his hand. Josh fell to the ground. A few stones and dust flew behind him. John immediately came to help him up. Josh moaned softly, brushed off his clothes, and his face turned pale. He dropped the backpack and made sure that the most important thing, the small guitar, was not damaged. He breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that the instrument was in better condition than he was.

"The hell..." The whole group looked at Arian standing on the chipped rock. He stood with his arms outstretched. "You fucked me up, Josh ... Any idea how to get me down now?" he asked, looking at the distance between him and the others. As if he were assessing whether the jump from the current place would end with a broken leg for him.

"Sorry, Arian! Wait ... I'll help you right away!" Josh ran toward the rock, quickly searching for a safe path for him. He was worried that it was because of him that another member of the group had problems now. He walked around the rock, leaned, and pulled his neck, trying to instruct Arian how to overcome the obstacle.

John heard his humbleness in his voice. He smiled slightly under his breath and stood beside the silent Sherlock. He exchanged amused looks with him. While Josh was trying to help Arian get down the rock safely, Sebastian pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lit one cigarette and observed the others in silence.

"Wait, no. Not like that," Josh focused on the task. He wanted to bring his colleague down. He pointed at the place. After a while, he changed his mind and proposed a different solution. "Try it this way ..." he stretched and imitated the positions as if it was him was in a problematic situation.

The moment lasted longer and longer to the greater amusement of John and Lucy. The doctor did not hide a smile and a quiet giggle, and the archer stood with arms folded and shook her head. Even Sherlock was smiling half-heartedly at the scene. Only Sebastian was looking at the only person worth his attention. At John. He took a puff on his cigarette, blew smoke through his pursed lips, and looked at him.

"Don't put your feet there ..." Josh changed his mind again.

"So where the fuck I should put it?" Arian shouted, losing the last of his patience. "Where? I can't go there, because it will break down, neither will this shit fall off. Decide for fuck's sake! Because of your fucking advice, I am standing here like a dickhead! I piss on them! I would have been down the rock with my leg in your ass a long time ago if you hadn't talked so much, you bloody cocksucker! Get the fuck out of here before I push that stone down your throat so deep that even a slut would be impressed! "

John was silent, but he immediately had to lower his eyes and tighten his lips so as not to laugh loudly. He cringed slightly in his arms and stared at pale Josh, who was listening to Arian's curses. Josh had probably never heard so many offensive words in such a short time before, because he was standing without a word, eyes wide open. Lucy shook her head harder and closed her ears. Sherlock and Sebastian watched the scene silently, and John tried to reconcile compassion with amusement. He was too preoccupied and did not notice when Moran finished his cigarette, threw it down the slope, and walked to the rock where Arian continued his angry monologue.

"So brave, 'cause he is already down! I wonder how you are going to wheeze your fucking songs when I punch you in the teeth ..."

Sebastian pulled out one of the knives hidden in the shoe and without warning drove it firmly into the base of the rock. He turned it twice and lifted it, causing the whole rock with Arian to fall. Josh jumped back in time. In the cloud of dust and falling stones, they could only hear Arian's soft moaning, which Moran did not gently lift by the collar. John was relieved to see the few scratches on his face and the fact that he slightly squeezed his leg. He was afraid that the fall would affect his health more. To the extent that they would have to make an unplanned stop at the very beginning of the mission. However, the sprained ankle and superficial wounds did not cause panic. He was angry with Sebastian. Really angry.

"Who will hesitate" Moran straightened up and turned to the others, "can already look for a way back. If you can't keep up and you lag, that's your problem. We won't wait," he announced in a calm but imperious tone. He passed the silent Lucy and stepped forward. "And if you try to undermine my decisions," he added without turning back, "it's better if you have a good reason to do so. Let's go."

John listened in silence. The cheerful mood vanished within a second. Nobody dared to say a word and it became clear to John that despite hope, Sebastian had not changed in those ten years. He was imperious, implacable, and extremely dangerous. In the coming weeks, they will find out about his true nature and the extent to which he may be a threat to them. John was sure of it. In silence and without taking his eyes off the ground, he followed the rest of the group.

The area was slowly starting to turn grassy. First, the colors were faded and dry, then more lush and becoming the color of juicy green. They were coming down the slopes, which, although still steep, were less rocky. This was a relief to Arian. John noticed that he was walking with clenched teeth and he was trying to keep up with the rest of the group. He was limping, sweat streaming down his face. Silence did not improve the mood. The sun was starting to burn unpleasantly in the face and even the strong wind did not give relief. Therefore, as they approached the first line of trees, John took a deep breath and once again allowed himself to cast a long look at his friend. Sherlock was behaving strangely. He was silent almost from the very beginning of the day. He rarely looked at him. He looked depressed or angry. John was concerned. Something was wrong. He counted on Sherlock being one of the few people to oppose Sebastian. That he would show his advantage over him. Maybe not physical but mental for sure. He wanted his friend to be the group commander, but Mycroft got it out of his head. He stated that they should stay in the shadows and not show all their skills. John, however, knew Sherlock and knew that he would sooner eat his own phone than pretend to be humble and that he would accept what others would offer him. That's why this strange passivity surprised him and disturbed him a little. The deeper they went into the forest, the more irritated he felt. He was tired, hungry, and angry about the whole situation. He was angry at Sherlock's absence, at the wounds that Arian had to face, and at Sebastian's intransigence. He was irritated by his unwillingness to accept Lucy's suggestions. She urged him to stop several times or to take a short break in the march. They have already walked over a mile in the shadow of the spreading trees and the sounds of the living forest.

"If we don't take a break, we will die here anytime." Lucy once again said what each of them thought. "Let's take a rest".

Sebastian delayed the answer. "Two more miles," he said over his shoulder, breaking branches in his path.

Maybe if John hadn't known him before, he would have been more terrified to oppose him. Maybe then he would have bitten his tongue. Several years of service in one camp made him resistant to Sebastian's emphatic tone and he no longer felt the respect that the others surely felt. He straightened up, stopped, and took a deep breath. "We are taking a break in the march," he announced loudly. "Now".

This time Sebastian stopped and turned to the rest of the group. He wasn't angry, but curious. He looked at John for a long time. He finally nodded. "All right".

The surprise John saw on the faces of the others couldn't be different from what he felt at the moment. He seemed to realize that Moran was taking his opinion into account, but they had not been in contact for so long that he almost forgot how it felt. He did not have time to think long, because the group with relief started to prepare the area for a camp. Lucy cleared the place among the trees with kicks, getting rid of branches and small stones. Sebastian and Josh brought wide boughs for everyone to sit on, and Arian pulled out food cans and a few bottles of water. Sherlock decided that the others did not need his help. He sat under the tree and took the pose of a thinker, combining his fingers and putting them under his chin.

John dropped his backpack and looked around. The idea of longer rest improved his mood a bit. He took off his shoe and poured small stones from inside. "I'll take care of Arian," he said to Lucy who was kneeling next to him.

"Oh no," she objected firmly, "I'll do it." She finished laying stones and preparing them as a base for the fire. "You should gather wood". She gave him a meaningful look. She was annoyed because John didn't fully understand what she meant. "Get out of here for a moment, because his bough is in such fire," she pointed at Sebastian, who was watching them from afar, "when you defied him so firmly that he will not quench it by tomorrow."

John raised a corner of his mouth slightly. He nodded. He had to admit that he would happily go for a lonely walk away from the curious glances of others. He agreed to Lucy's rather direct offer, but he decided to make sure that everything was all right with Sherlock. At least, that it was fine enough that he would not have time to argue with others until his return. He came to a friend who, feeling someone's presence next to him, slightly opened his eyes, but did not change his position.

"Sherlock ...". What was he supposed to ask? How is he feeling? Did something hurt him? Sherlock would ignore him or make up an excuse. When he saw his face, he knew that the last thing he was thinking about was talking. He knelt beside him and put a hand on his knee. He didn't miss how Sherlock reacted to this normal gesture. He focused his eyes on him, and barely visible satisfaction appeared on his lips. John was still wondering what he was going to say, what to ask. Finally, however, he gave up and with a soft sigh, he patted his friend several times on the knee, then stood up with difficulty and went back to the rest. The campsite was slowly beginning to resemble a real camping site. The stones were arranged in a circle. A small cauldron hung above it. Around the makeshift campfire, Sebastian set up stumps, Josh was mixing something in a metal cup, and Lucy was taking care of Arian's leg.

"Where do you think you going?" Josh asked, watching the doctor who pulled out a special knife and piece of cord from the side pocket of his backpack.

"I will look for dry branches," he pointed at the part of the forest that went down the slope. "These are not good. They are too wet and would only fume if we threw them into the fire."

"And we don't want anyone noticing us," said Arian.

"Should I go with you?" Josh asked, but John just shook his head.

He put the cord in his pocket and the knife still wrapped in the sheath he attached to the belt. He hoped that a short walk would help him relax and gain new strength for the next hours of walking.

"Just watch out for wild animals!" Lucy shouted after him.

"Wild animals? What lives here?" Josh asked.

"Bears, panthers" Arian enumerated calmly, bending his fingers. "Tigers".

"Tigers? In Bhutan?" Josh did not hide his slight curiosity and concern. "And so high in the mountains?"

"Maybe some got hungry and came here to find food? Fuck knows ..."

John stopped listening. He was too far away to understand the words. He walked deep into the forest with a slight smile. The area in this part was soaked with fog and dew, which remained on the plants thanks to the tight crowns of trees, separating the grass from sunlight. As he walked down the slope, the lying branches began to crack and break under the pressure of John's shoes. In the distance, he could hear the sound of the river flowing down the hillside. He was several miles away from the nearest villages, but he doubted anyone would risk entering that far into the forest. He felt safe as he wandered slowly through the trees. With real pleasure, he listened to the singing of birds and the noise of the wind that torn leaves. He collected branches and tied them with a rope. A long time passed when he realized that he should return to the camp. He ventured too far down the slope, and the way back would probably take him more time anyway. He hoped his field orientation was still good and he would have no trouble finding the camp. Before he started back, he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath of fresh air. _It's time to come back._

He reluctantly directed his steps up the slope. He was having a hard time. It is different to briskly go down the hill and sluggish climbing on it. A strange feeling that didn't leave him for a long time didn't help either. He felt watched and followed. He looked around but saw nothing. No hidden eyes, no paw prints. He walked a few more yards, but the feeling did not disappear. It has even increased. He began to worry seriously. He felt that he was in danger. Were there really panthers or tigers? He began to walk faster, but a moment later he stopped and listened to the sounds coming from the depths of the forest. Nothing. Only the singing of birds and the usual sounds of nature. He shook his head. He thought he was crazy. Lucy talked about wild animals, and now he began to think about it, and those thoughts prevailed in his head, creating absurd images of predators hiding and hunting him. He gripped the branches he had tied before with a rope. He convinced himself that it was his imagination and if he stopped thinking about danger, he would feel better. He turned his steps up the slope again. He walked more carefully and slower. He kept his hand on a knife attached to his belt and stared straight ahead, though he penetrated the area with his eyes and searched for what would not leave him alone. In less than five minutes he stopped again. This time to catch some breath. Slow climbing turned into a quick walk, which did not work well for him. _Nothing is happening!_ He reminded himself in his thoughts. _If something were following me, it would have attacked me a long time ago._ It was the truth. He was halfway to the campsite and nothing happened. It calmed him down a bit. He breathed a sigh of relief because he suddenly understood his behavior and the strange panic that overwhelmed him. He shook his head and moved forward with relief. He heard the birds sing again. The sound of trees and the quiet cracks of broken branches. He entered a more overgrown part of the forest, where the trees grew so close that their roots tangled together and protruded from the ground, creating a considerable obstacle.

John squeezed through the trees for a long moment. He was careful not to let any hanging branches stick into his eye. When he passed the most difficult part of the tangle of trees, he stopped, and then his back hit the nearest standing tree. He lost his breath and control over his body. He was pressed too hard to see what was going on in time. He couldn't breathe or open his eyes. It took him some time to realize that it was no animal or supernatural force, but Sebastian, who appeared out of nowhere and pressed him against the tree. And the breathing problems were caused by Moran's mouth. Sebastian pressed him with his body and kissed him eagerly and wildly. Though John wouldn't call it kisses. He was rather devoured by Sebastian's greedy mouth. He sucked and bit him. He grabbed his lower lip between his and pulled it as if he wanted to appropriate it. John didn't have the strength to break free, though he tried. He was pushing Moran away. He wanted to get out of the trap. At one point he thought he would succeed because he managed to push himself away from the tree. Immediately, however, he landed on the grass, and Sebastian lay down on him, taking away any possibility of escape. The moment he felt something hard pressed to his thigh, he panicked completely. _No no no! NO!_

"Stop!" he finally managed to free a terrified scream from his throat. He did it because Sebastian put his mouth to his neck. "Sebastian! No!" he closed his eyes tightly and pushed him away with all his strength. "Stop!". Nothing reached the consciousness of a stronger man. John gritted his teeth and did the same with his fist. Without warning, he hit Sebastian on the cheekbone. It was true that he lay on the ground and did it at an odd angle, but the strike worked. Moran was stunned, and John took advantage of it. He crawled out from under his body and pressed his shoulder to the nearest tree. Cold sweat covered his entire body. He was panting loud and deep. He put his hand on his chest, trying to calm his croaking heart.

Sebastian sat down on the ground. He stared at John and also tried to control his breathing. "You taste exactly as I remember," he said after a long silence. He put his hands on bent and widely spread legs.

"And you," John finally gathered the strength to answer, "are still the same son of a bitch. Exactly how I remembered you."

Sebastian raised a corner of his mouth and rubbed his swollen cheek. There was silence. Both men recovered from this sudden outburst of passion from Moran and John's panic. They sat facing each other among the cheerfully twittering birds. John tried to accept the fact that the lips he wanted to forget so much, he felt again on his body. He trembled at what was on Moran's mind and what would happen if he couldn't stop him.

"I don't remember having an argument or another reason, so why did you disappear?" Sebastian's voice was not so harsh and cold anymore, "Why did you leave me?"

John smiled wryly, lowered his eyes, and shook his head. He has changed nothing. He felt that he was able to stand up and stay on his feet. The tree was rough and hard, but his perseverance and determination to move away as soon as possible were stronger than the scratches that had formed on his palm as he leaned against it. "I don't owe you any explanation."

"Ten years. Ten years, John! How long are you going to run away from me?"

Before he answered, John grabbed a pile of branches, which he dropped during Sebastian's attack. "Exactly. Ten years ... And you still don't understand anything."

"What should I understand if you avoid the answer?" Sebastian jumped up. "That day I woke up and learned that you were gone. You disappeared without a word. Sholto threatened me with disciplinary dismissal if I start sniffing and if I won't let you go."

"He threatened you, but you did it your way and sniffed it". John started heading toward the camp but stopped to explain something to Moran. "You didn't understand that I didn't want to have anything to do with you?"

"How do you know...". There was a surprise on Sebastian's face that changed into understanding in a split second. "Oh, so it was about him. About Sholto."

The blood boiled in John to this level that he almost turned on his heel. Almost. He fought the temptation to continue discussions with Sebastian. He passed the next trees confidently and quickly. "Don't interfere in this, James. Don't interfere in my life, for there has long been no place for you in it!"

"You won't run away this time," Moran shouted at John, who was walking away and disappearing between the trees. "I have two months to prove to you that you do not belong to anyone but me. And even more, you do not belong to this arrogant Holmes!"

He wanted to shout that he never belonged to him. It was a great pain to him that he had to admit to himself that despite his great hopes and desires, his feelings were never returned. Sherlock had no idea about them. What struck him the most was that everyone around assumed that it was the opposite. Constantly persuading and convincing that after all, they had to be united by something more than friendship, hurt John. The worst was powerlessness because he could not talk about his real feelings if he did not want to lose Sherlock, and it would happen if he poured his heart out before him. Genius saw him as his friend, ready to do anything for his good, but not someone who could win his feelings. Sherlock's heart was closed to him and nothing could change that.

John could hear the conversations echoing through the trees more clearly with each step. The other members of the group had already set up a camp and even started a fire, which was quite mediocre. The branches in this part of the forest were still too moist to serve as fuel. John approached them with some concern. He could feel the pulsing under the sensitive skin of his mouth. He was convinced that his lips were swollen and red. He was afraid of the reactions of the others, especially the reaction of Sherlock, who focused his eyes on him and did not leave him, even when John sat next to him on the fallen limb.

"Finally. It took you long. We were wondering if we should go to your rescue," Josh said, playing with the guitar he was holding on his lap.

"Have you seen any wild animal?" Lucy asked.

John hesitated for a moment with an answer. "You could say so". He approached the fire. He sat down next to Sherlock and threw a pile of dry branches under his feet. He saw that his friend was watching him intensely.

"So why you took this pinging thing with you?" Lucy kept asking Josh. The conversation returned to its previous topic, which gave John considerable relief.

"Exactly" Arian spat on the ground, "Of all the useful things you could take for the good of the group, you took a damn guitar.

Josh pulled the strings gently and elegantly. The instrument made a pleasant sound. "How can you be sure it won't be useful? Anything can be used as a weapon. I believe that you should always expect the unexpected," he announced proudly. He immediately felt a strong blow in the back of his head. He flew forward but managed to stay on his stump.

"You didn't expect that, did you?" Sebastian walked behind him. He sat next to him with a wry face. He grabbed the stick and began to peel it off with a sharp knife, which he pulled from the shoe.

"Besides," Josh stared at him, he massaged his head with an open hand, "talking about unnecessary things ..." he pointed his finger at the archer, "Lucy took the bow! What do we need it for?

"She will use it for hunting," Sebastian said, muttering under his breath. "We can't afford to waste ammo, but we have to eat."

"I can also save your ass with it" Lucy grabbed the subject of discussion and ran her fingers along its length, enjoying the touch of hard wood and tight string. "But if you piss me off, I'll use it in a different way," she said with a warning and made a move as if she were pushing her precious bow into something.

The discussion about useful things continued. But John had a different problem. Sebastian sat opposite and looked at him with narrowed eyebrows. John tried at all costs not to show how much it cost him to avoid his gaze and what he was experiencing, still feeling the touch of his lips. He turned to his friend recklessly. Sherlock looked at Moran seriously, then looked at the doctor. His gaze immediately went to John's lips, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Damn it. Sherlock knew. John was angry at Sebastian and the situation. He wanted to believe that Sherlock had no idea about his previous relationship with other men, and now he got proof that it was different. He was furious with Moran and he showed it to him, giving him a fierce look. Sebastian watched them in silence. He did not respond to other group members' questions. He jerked only when Lucy, who was passing by, accidentally hit him straight in the face with her long braid.

"John ...".

He turned his head away. Arian was holding a bowl with something steaming inside. The smell was not very tempting, but John took the soup from his hand gratefully. He knew that he had to use every opportunity to eat something warm and gain strength before a journey. Sherlock probably had the same assumption, because he took the bowl from Lucy's hands. John was surprised that he did it so willingly, but he did not hide his satisfaction. The thing that caught his attention was something weird and white on Sherlock's gloves. He saw it when his friend reached for the bowl. It intrigued him so much that he put away everything he held and grabbed Sherlock's hand. He saw that Sherlock's thick glove was wiped on the inside. He saw some white material. Probably a bandage. The other glove was in the same condition. So that was his problem. Sherlock must have forgotten his protectors when he was sliding off the rope. John was angry at himself that he had not warned him about this possibility. Sherlock must have suffered if his hands were hurt at that moment. John put his foot over the bough they were sitting on. He didn't have to look for the first aid kit. Lucy left it next to the stump. He put Sherlock's hand on his thigh and began to remove bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and some ointments from a small box. He was too involved with the new task to notice Sherlock's interested stare. Fortunately, others didn't pay much attention to them. They were busy discussing something.

"Fine. Play something if you have to" Lucy was finally convinced by Josh's pleas. "But it would be better for you if it wasn't a song about some slutty Catherine again or about Miss Eleonora's boobs," she said, looking threateningly at him.

"As you wish," Josh bowed slightly. The strings of the small guitar gleamed between his fingers. It shuddered when he jerked it with his thumb. Quiet and delicate sounds spread through the forest. Initially, these were just the sounds of music, after a long time Josh added his voice to the melody.

_A flickering candle, the fire went out_   
_A cold wind blew perceptibly_   
_And the day pass_   
_And the time passes_   
_In silence and imperceptibly_   
_You're with me endlessly and endlessly_   
_Something join us, but not perfectly_   
_For the days pass_   
_For time passes_   
_In silence and imperceptibly_

Calm sounds eased John's nerves. He focused his attention on Sherlock's injured hands. He didn't want to hurt him more. He took off the glove, and when he looked at the bandaged hand, he felt like smiling under his breath. Sherlock apparently decided to take care of it himself, because the bandage was wrapped clumsily and lopsidedly. The moment he took it off, he understood how much pain his friend must have felt all this time. His skin was bleeding. On the fingers and in the middle of the palm. The blood had already dried and stuck to the bandage. John gently got rid of it. But when he did it, he accidentally ripped a few cuts and the blood appeared again on Sherlock's hand. Amazingly, Sherlock didn't move even a millimeter. His hand grew warm, and when John looked up, he saw his friend's beautiful eyes, focused only on him. They stared at each other for a long time. So long that John felt uncomfortable. He lowered his eyes and took care of his hand. He cleaned the wounds, disinfected, and sprayed his hand with a special substance that was to help tissue regeneration. He wrapped his hand with a clean bandage and took the other one. He repeated the activities, but this time much more slowly. He loved the touch of Sherlock's skin. It was delicate and soft. He had long, slender fingers. John could look at them for hours. He was glad that Sherlock was letting him do it right now. He sat patiently with his open hand and let him touch himself. John was too much into what he was doing to pay attention to the burning look his friend gave him. He could feel the warm breath on his neck as he bowed his head. He gently ran his finger over the bandage. How much would he give to feel Sherlock's fingers on his skin. He wanted those fingers to tighten on his shoulder and hold him to the ground. If only Sherlock had kissed him just like Sebastian had just before ... He looked up. Sherlock stared at him in silence. The glow of the fire reflected in his eyes. John understood his mistake. He couldn't show Sebastian that he was right. There were no laws where they were. No one would be surprised by Sherlock's death because the mission itself was dangerous and had the characteristics of suicide. He couldn't let his hidden feelings for Sherlock be visible to others or let Sebastian figure out what he felt for his friend. He realized that these two months would be really difficult.

_The memory of travelled paths and roads_   
_Remain in us irrevocably_   
_Although the day pass_   
_Although time passes_   
_In silence and imperceptibly_   
_So, my love one more time_   
_Let's repeat the chorus triumphantly_   
_So do the days pass_   
_So does time pass_   
_In silence and imperceptibly_

The song didn't end but Lucy quickly got up from the stump. She ran a few steps. She leaned her hand on the tree, leaned, and vomited. Everyone looked at her in shock, but the most surprised of them was Josh.

"You didn't like it so much?" He asked. "You know ... You didn't have to show it in such a theatrical way." He put down the guitar and crossed his arms. "Huh" he snorted in disbelief and a slight insult, "with such an attitude, you'll never understand real art."


End file.
